


Over to You

by crimsonseekers



Series: Over to You [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: An AU Featuring Anger Management Issues Personified And His (not) Boyfriends, And The Constructicons Tag Along, Don't worry they're all happy, Five Himbos and their Angsty Boyfriend, Mech Preg, Multi, Prowl Finally Gets To Talk Out His Problems, Prowl Joins The Lost Light, Prowl needs a hug, Therapy, This Is 98 Percent Prowl Internally Commentating Everything, referenced miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 75,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonseekers/pseuds/crimsonseekers
Summary: “As your gestalt, the Constructicons have also signed themselves on board as under your oversight. I believe they said that you were their foreman, and ensured Rodimus and…Megatronthat they would behave,” Ultra Magnus told Prowl, having comm’d him as he shoved what little he had in the way of possessions into his subspace, preparing to board theLost Lightlater that day. He paused.“They’ve what.”A 'Prowl & the Constructicons join the Lost Light after the events of Dark Cybertron' AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing is based off [a panel I saw in RID](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com/post/186005030628/prowl-the-constructicons-joining-the-lost-light) that I couldn't stop thinking about and now we're here.

Prowl needed a break.

Desperately.

Which was how he found himself talking to Ultra Magnus shortly after Megatron had been apprehended and thrown in a cell.

“You wish to join the crew of the _Lost Light?”_ Magnus asked with a vaguely puzzled look on his face. “I am not convinced that would be the best course of action for your safety. Some of the bots on board are fond of talking about how much they hate you.”

“Yeah, well they can join the club,” Prowl muttered. “Look, I would rather avoid bots that hate me with a burning passion over spending another second on this planet. I need a sabbatical or something vaguely like it. I want a break from all the politics and high drama here, and that’s why I want to join.” _At least I will know where I stand,_ he thought bitterly.

“If you are confident that this is the course that you wish to take. Although I warn you now, the _Lost Light_ has found itself in some rather dangerous situations, it is not exactly a journey that I imagine many would label as ‘safe.’”

“Unless I get brainwashed and forcibly bonded to another gestalt, I think I can handle it.”

“Is that a joke of some sort?”

“It would be nice if it was.” Ultra Magnus gave Prowl an odd look before turning back to the datapads he was reviewing.

“I will forward the paperwork and disclaimers to you within a cycle. Have a good day, Prowl.”

Prowl had reviewed, filled out, signed, and returned all the paperwork before he even went to recharge that night. Ultra Magnus had looked particularly pleased with his promptness.

Although signing himself to the _Lost Light_ might not have turned out to be the _best_ decision he had ever made, in hindsight, watching a month later as Optimus declared that Megatron would now be Co-Captain of the vessel. If Prowl didn’t know any better, he probably would’ve said that the Prime was being petty.

* * *

_“Prowl!”_

“Did ya _talk_ to him?”

“Is it _true_ about Megatron?

“Are we goin’ _with_ him?”

“Yeah, do we get to join the _Lost Light_ crew?”

He told them that while he was joining the _Lost Light,_ the Constructicons themselves were staying on Cybertron _right where he would never see them._

* * *

“As your gestalt, the Constructicons have also signed themselves on board as under your oversight. I believe they said that you were their foreman, and ensured Rodimus and… _Megatron_ that they would behave,” Ultra Magnus told Prowl, having comm’d him as he shoved what little he had in the way of possessions into his subspace, preparing to board the _Lost Light_ later that day. He paused.

_“They’ve what.”_

* * *

To say that Prowl was displeased with this turn of events would be somewhat of an understatement. 

To say that he threw a table at the Constructicons when they tried to approach him in Swerve’s bar would be a bit more accurate.

And then Ultra Magnus came along and started prattling about ‘anger management’, and ‘I expected this out of Whirl, not you’, and how his behavior was ‘unbecoming of the former Second In Command of the Autobot forces.’

Ultra Magnus was lucky _he_ didn’t get a table to the face.

So now, until Rung decided he could be trusted to control himself, he had weekly sessions with the therapist. Joy to the world.

* * *

_“Let me phrase it a bit differently this time: Why did you throw a table at your gestalt?”_

_“They were annoying me.”_

_“How were they annoying you?”_

_“By existing.”_

_“In what way do they annoy you by existing?”_

_“Because I hate them.”_

_“Why do you hate them so much?”_

_“Because they’re annoying.” The conversation had just gone full circle. Rung let out a barely audible sigh before pushing his glasses further up his nose before glancing at his chronometer._

_“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have this week. If you-” Rung glanced up from his datapad, and Prowl was gone. He looked at the ceiling for a long moment. This would take a while._

* * *

Prowl laid on his berth in his quarters. Alone. Nobody had wanted to room with him - except the Constructicons, who were (annoyingly) also spread out over the two quarters on either side of his own. He had nothing to do on his off-shift, and he’ll be _damned_ if he goes to spend time with his gestalt, who had been settling into the _Lost Light_ rather well, despite still wearing the Decepticon badge.

Unlike Megatron and Prowl himself, they were never far enough up the food chain for all the other mechs on board to blame them for _literally every that ever went wrong in the war._ So they were significantly more capable of making nice with everyone than Prowl himself was.

Hook, with his medical training, was assigned to the medbay with Ratchet. Apparently, the CMO was supposed to have another assistant, but he was currently undergoing therapy for trauma. The trauma of what exactly, Prowl wasn’t sure. Either people didn’t know or didn’t want to talk about it. Hook was restricted to minor repairs until Ratchet could confirm that his training was sufficient to cover much larger injuries, despite Hook’s disgruntled rumblings about the matter.

Mixmaster had struck up a partnership with Swerve and had taken to helping out in the bar. Apparently, he was helping Swerve find a way to give engex a strong kick while simultaneously diluting it. Prowl himself wasn’t exactly a _welcome customer_ at Swerve’s establishment after his whole table-flipping event there, so he simply decided that this information didn’t particularly matter to him.

Long Haul and Scavenger had also found themselves cozy little places in the bar, having found an odd sort of kinsmanship with the doorman, called ‘Ten’. Prowl didn’t ask what was up with a bot named _Ten._

And then there was Bonecrusher who had… _something_ going on with Whirl, but Prowl had immediately decided he wasn’t touching that with a fifty-foot pole.

Prowl only knew this much about their lives because they kept _talking_ to him, despite the fact that he believed that he had made it _extremely_ clear that he wanted _nothing_ to do with them.

As for Prowl, he had found himself recruited into being Ultra Magnus’ assistant which… wasn’t _horrible,_ but it certainly wasn’t the best either. It was something to keep his processor occupied and away from the gestalt bond that kept _tugging_ on his spark.

It certainly didn’t help that working with the SIC of the _Lost Light_ meant he was almost constantly coming into contact with Megatron. To avoid further trouble with Ultra Magnus and even more necessary sessions of ‘therapy’, he gritted his denta and kept his mouth shut, his optics glaring a hole through whatever datapad he might have happened to be holding at that point in time.

* * *

_“Prowl, could you please elaborate on your answer?”_

_Prowl grunted._

_“Is there any particular reason you dislike them to such a degree, besides,” Rung glanced at his datapad at his notes from their previous session, “their existence and their habit of being annoying?”_

_Prowl neglected to answer him._

_Rung sighed and sat back in his chair._

_“Prowl, if we are to get anywhere with this, you need to cooperate at least on_ some _level with me.” Prowl snorted derisively and cast his optics off to the side._

_“We don’t need to get anywhere with this, because there isn’t a problem.”_

_“Prowl,” Rung started before cutting himself off and looking at the ceiling for a brief moment. He removed his glasses and rubbed tiredly at his olfactory ridge before replacing the spectacles. “Prowl, even if there isn’t a problem, you will need to continue returning to these sessions until I am able to convince Ultra Magnus that you do not need them anymore, and I am unable to do that with the way you are currently acting.”_

_“There is nothing wrong with the way I conduct myself.”_

_“Until we can convince the command staff of that, I am afraid that you will be continuing to see me every single week.”_

_“What’s to stop me from simply sitting here and not responding to your questions every week until Rodimus and Megatron find their Knights of Cybertron?” Prowl sniped, glaring at Rung petulantly._

_“Absolutely nothing. But I imagine that you will begin to find that incredibly boring very soon, and it won’t help you with matters at all. You can get out of this much quicker if you give me your full cooperation so I can clear you with Ultra Magnus if this turns out to be nothing, or I can help you if you need it. The choice is up to you.”_

_Prowl paused. He thought about it. He_ didn’t _want to be here until they found the Knights (if they even existed) or returned to Cybertron - and he didn’t know when either of those events would be._

_“I don’t have any problems, but if I find you talk about what I say here to_ anyone, _they will never find your frame,” he threatened. He would talk, but he didn’t people thinking he had emotional vulnerabilities. Rung just had a tiny, stupid soft smile on his face. Prowl didn’t know if he felt reassured or vaguely patronized._

_“Of course they won’t. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Rung was clearly used to this type of behavior and talk, and mentally going through a list of patients he knew of, Prowl was pretty sure he knew why._

_Whirl being on the_ Lost Light _wasn’t doing him any favors - his mere existence raised the standards for death threats._

* * *

Prowl was snapped out of his thoughts when an alarm klaxon started blaring loudly.

_AWOOGA! AWOOGA!_

Prowl was curiously leaving his habsuite to see what all the fuss was about when Megatron came on over the PA system.

_“Attention crew of the_ Lost Light, _this is not a drill. I repeat: this is_ not a drill. _The_ Lost Light _is_ disintegrating.” Now if that didn’t encourage Prowl to run for it, he didn’t know what would. _“Procede in an orderly fashion to Shuttle Bay 1 and await further orders.”_

Prowl skidded to a halt before landing his pede on a section of the floor that was _no longer a floor._ He was pretty sure he got the whole ‘disintegrating’ thing now.

_“En route to the shuttle bay you may discover that portions of the ship are missing.”_ The warning was a little late, in Prowl’s humble opinion as he shuffled into Shuttle Bay 1. Just a smidge belated. _“You may even encounter_ open space.” Prowl felt as if he should’ve asked more questions of what Ultra Magnus had meant by ‘not safe’ when he signed up.

_“It seems any protection from the vacuum outside is only_ temporary, _as if- KZZK!”_

Well, _that_ made Prowl feel better.

“Pick a shuttle and _move it,_ people! We’ve practiced this.” Prowl decided to not question what was going on, in pursuit of self-preservation, and boarded a brightly colored shuttle not too far from where he was.

He came to regret his choice, as they were fleeing the disappearing _Lost Light_ , as he recognized two very distinct paint-jobs: one was gun-metal grey, and the other green and purple that adorned several mechs whom _he did not want to be on board with_.

Prowl looked forlornly out the window where the _Lost Light_ had been only minutes ago.

He was stuck on an escape shuttle with Megatron and the Constructicons.

So much for his vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for listening to me bypass the problem of why prowl would even want to join the lost light by saying he just DOES OKAY.
> 
> I have a four-page (and counting) outline of this story (all the way up to the end of MTMTE) so let's see where this takes us
> 
> This story will be part 'the lost light but prowl's there too', part deviating storyline, and part prowl going off and having his own adventure at one point.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightbeat ruminates over the mystery of the disappearing Lost Light, Prowl avoids his gestalt, and in a therapy session, Prowl talks with Rung about Tyrest's killswitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is... significantly longer than I had intended it to be. It's more than three times the length of the last chapter, and it only takes us through issue 31!  
> On that note, the issue this chapter is based on (Twenty Plus One) was released five years ago yesterday!
> 
> A quick warning before y'all call me out on this: Prowl will refer to Nautica as 'he' throughout this chapter, as he doesn't yet know that Nautica's a 'she'.  
> Also, be prepared for copious amounts of italics and dashes.

Prowl shrewdly maneuvered himself around the crowd in the shuttle to avoid both and Constructicons and Megatron, eventually finding himself next to Riptide, Nautical (one of the new arrivals from Caminus, he was fairly sure that’s what his name was) and… _Chromedome_. He quickly sat himself down next to Nautical (or whatever his name was), and stubbornly refused to even _look_ in Chromedome’s direction, instead paying attention to whatever Riptide and Nautia were talking about.

“-so you got the _Lost Light_ recently then?”

“Yeah, no, this was about - this would’ve been about two years ago,” Riptide responded. “Most of the NAILs had flown home to Cybertron, and New Iacon, if that’s what we’re calling it, was filling up. Rodimus was about to announce his galactic road trip and Drift was shopping around for some wheels. The two of us - and Pipes, bless him - had ended up in New Iacon’s new religious quarter.” On some level, Prowl was intrigued that they had found a ship like the _Lost Light_ in a religious quarter, but at the same time wasn’t surprised that that was where _Drift_ would go to find one.

“So Drift had noticed this cool quantum ship with fuel quills, and we went searching for the owners, and it turned out that it belonged to these two sketchy looking mechs in the corner. So these two NAILs - turned out they were chirolingual: they preferred to communicate by-”

“By stimulating the nervecircuits in the fingers, wrist, and palm. I know. I speak a little hand,” Nautina responded, cutting off Riptide.

“Me too, Nautica,” _Nautica,_ that was it, “me too - and it cost me.” Prowl took a moment to consider why everybody on the _Lost Light_ was so dramatic. “Drift, of course, was fluent. So he was talking with them, and from what I could see, they called the _Lost Light_ a hop ship - apparently it could do, like, 20 jumps on the clock, from something ‘Pulsar’ back to Cybertron. Drift dropped a _billion shanix_ on this ship.” _That_ caught Prowl’s attention. Something clicked in Prowl’s mind

 _Drift bought_ the _Lost Light_ and assuming he didn’t gift it to Rodimus, it was still his own _privately owned neutral ship._ It definitely didn’t belong to the Autobot faction or the Provisional Cybertronian government (Prowl knew, he had looked through the ship manifest at one point - nobody really owned much of anything back then), which meant that _Megatron had been illegally installed as captain._

Prowl could understand making Megatron a prisoner or crew member on the _Lost Light,_ but putting a warlord who had committed countless murders and war crimes in a position of authority struck Prowl as… _odd_ (by which he meant that Sideswipe and Ironhide had to physically restrain him before he could throw a table at someone [Optimus]).

He’d have to remember to bring it up with Rodimus sometime, Primus knew with the way he had been acting he didn’t want Megatron on the ship any more than Prowl did.

He felt a curious poke against his spark.

_:: What’s got you so wound up? ::_

Prowl didn’t know which Constructicon had asked the question, and he didn’t care. He pulsed a violent jab back before clamping down on the gestalt bond.

“-and Drift told us that we could be waiting for a sign, and he stared all mystical-y at the lanterns that read _‘Welcome to the Festival of Lost Light’._ And that’s how the _Lost Light_ became the _Lost Light.”_

“Riptide, _please.”_ Great, Megatron was here too. It was at times like these that Prowl remembered why he preferred to eliminate his problems before they got out of hand in such a way. “I think our time would be more profitably spent is rather than _reminiscing_ we focused on the _here and now,”_ the former _(‘former’_ Prowl thought mockingly) tyrant said. “You Autobots are _obsessed_ with the past.” Prowl decided analyzing _that_ statement wasn’t even worth the bother.

“And we all know why you’re _not…”_ Riptide muttered under his breath. Prowl snorted. Nautica raised his hand.

“That was my fault, Megatron - I asked Riptide where the _Lost Light_ came from. It’s such an abnormal - sorry, it _was_ such an abnormal ship.”

Prowl turned to look at him in question just as Chromedome asked: “Abnormal how?”

They made optic contact.

Chromedome glared.

Prowl glared.

Both turned away from each other in disgust as Nautica answered Chromedome’s almost forgotten query.

“The quantum engines. Advanced isn’t the word…! I mean, there’s no way that _Perceptor,_ as brilliant as he is - and don’t get me wrong, I think he’s _Brainstorm-level_ brilliant-” Prowl had worked with both scientists in the past, and just didn’t bother to even think about the difference between the two (Perceptor was conventionally brilliant, perhaps the smartest mech out there… _Brainstorm_ was smart in a way that often openly defied the laws of the universe in every capacity and often drove Prowl to his wits end, though he still didn’t quite understand why Wheeljack had insisted upon using _Brainstorm_ of all mechs as a measuring scale for disaster), “-there’s no way he could’ve used a regular set of quantum engines to get us from Cybertron to the Galactic Rim _in one go.”_

“You played no small part in that, I gather,” some other mech added. His name was on the edge of Prowl’s mind. Must not have been very important, Prowl tended to remember the names of key players.

“Well, I- thanks Hoist.” _Hoist,_ that’s his name! “That’s - yes,” Nautica stumbled over his words. “I appreciated that.” He paused. “I’ve lost my thread now. And my wrench,” he muttered. “Compliments make me clumsy.” That much was obvious.

“Go on, Nautica - _Educationalize us._ I haven’t learned anything new since the Ten Step,” some other mech said, leaning forward in an intrigued manner.

Prowl hid his wince at the mention of the program underneath a muttered, “That’s not how you use ‘educationalize’. The correct word was ' _educate'.”_ The mech shot Prowl a sharp look.

“It’s called a _joke,_ Prowl. You can make and understand one if you have something most of us like to call a _sense of humor._ Get one.”

Nautica, oblivious to the sharp jabs passed back and forth, seemingly had his missing wrench rematerialize in his hand while agreeing to the mechs prompt, “I’m used to doing this in a classroom setting, but yeah, why not? Convention be damned!”

And that was how, an hour and a half later, Prowl found himself knowing far more about quantum engines and quantum mechanics than he had ever wanted to know in his life.

“In essence, quantum engines work both _for_ and _against_ themselves. Being able to travel faster than light is highly _improbable,_ and it’s that improbability - that tension between what should and shouldn’t be possible which - which generates the huge amount of power needed to relocate the engines’ _mass_ and _conceptual heft.”_

Prowl had genuinely never been more thankful that he had been constructed a police bot and not a lab assistant because that _genuinely made absolutely no sense._

“Define ‘conceptual heft,’” Getaway asked, raising his hand. Prowl had forgotten that Getaway was even _on_ the _Lost Light_ \- he should probably try to talk to him at some point, especially after he had gone missing after that mission to take out Tyrest.

“The heaviness of the idea,” Nightbeat responded (Prowl could remember _some_ names at least).

“What? You just said exactly the same thing with different words.” Prowl was fairly sure that ‘ideas’ couldn’t have mass or weight or ‘heft’, but after listening to Nautica ramble he wasn’t sure _what_ was scientifically possible or not.

“And you’ve just defined a definition,” Nightbeat said, a slag-eating grin on his face.

“If I sit next to you too long, am I going to die of _smartass poisoning?”_ He found himself wondering the likelihood of a fight breaking out. Nautica just seemed oblivious to everything around him, off talking in his own little world.

“Now steady, because this is merely a sketch of an outline of a germ of an idea…” Dear Primus, was Prowl thankful that he had never gotten involved in the sciences. “But what is, the more _advanced_ the quantum engines, the more unlikely they are to exist… until one day, they _don’t.”_ Crazy must be infectious on the _Lost Light_ because Prowl found himself simultaneously finding that to make sense and the stupidest thing he had ever heard. “That’s what I think happened to the _Lost Light:_ I think it _proved itself impossible.”_ Prowl more fully understood why some ‘bots had quit the _Lost Light_ and entered therapy after they returned to Cybertron.

“We may not have established the _cause_ of the _Lost Light’s_ disappearance, but the _effect_ is obvious,” Megatron said sullenly from where he observed the other shuttles from the _Lost Light._ “We’re spread across a dozen short-range shuttles, of which this _vanity project_ of a ship is undoubtedly the most _ridiculous,_ and we’re _floundering._ We need to regroup, refuel, and work out how we can find Thunderclash without the benefit of faster-than-light-travel.” Well, _someone_ was eager to expedite their execution.

“Hold that thought,” Blaster, holding a hand to his comm and pointing out the window at the _Leading Light._ “Incoming message from Rodimus. He’s saying there’s an A Level planet nearby… Ofsted XVII, edge of Sector 113. We’re to rendezvous there. He’s asking who’s on board. _‘If Megaton was half the co-captain he thinks he is he’d get his act together and-’_ sorry, lost him mid-insult.”

“Everyone stand still while I carry out a headcount. I hope this puts paid to the notion that I ignore everything my ‘co-captain’ says on the grounds that he’s lazy, petulant, and pathologically ill-suited to command…” Megatron vented as his finger moved across the crowd, taking count of all the mechs on board. He paused at one point and turned to Prowl. “Where’s Hook?”

One of the Constructicons (Scavenger maybe?) piped up from the back. “He’s on one of the other shuttles - the _Medicia_ with First Aid.” Megatron nodded his assent and continued counting, muttering quietly under his breath as he went.

“And Highbrow makes twenty five,” he announced.

He began to move away as Chromedome and Highbrow began talking about Lectureworlds and Curricula, but next thing Prowl knew the lights flickered and the Constructicons _grabbed him_ and pulled him away from where… _Primus,_ he had to start learning names soon. The little waste disposal minibot was aiming a gun at Megatron.

“Hands in the air!” Prowl personally found it vaguely difficult to take the whole situation seriously when the minibot’s voice was so high-pitched. “C’mon! I wanna see armpits!” Primus, this mech had to realize how un-intimidating he was, right?

“It’s _Tailgate,_ isn't it?” Megatron asked in a slightly condescending manner.

“You _know_ who I am. Everybody knows.” Prowl didn’t actually, but he felt as if he was about to get a reminder. He sent an angry pulse through the gestalt bond to get those brutes to _stop petting him and asking if he was okay_ because he was _fine._

“I’m the waste disposal expert who saved the world - in fact, there’s a 50% chance you’re still alive because of _me.”_ It wasn’t ringing any immediate bells, but this wasn’t a fight Prowl wanted to get involved in as he slowly advanced towards the - _ahem_ \- situation.

 _“Hm,”_ Megatron said, and Prowl didn’t know it was possible to put so much condescending and patronizing power into a single noise. “I’ll have to take your tiny word for it.”

“Tailgate!” exclaimed Cyclonus - at this point Prowl had a 50/50 rate going with actually remembering who people were. “What in the name of _sanity_ are you _doing?”_ Good question. What did a tiny minibot hope to accomplish by holding a blaster to Megatron, who - much as Prowl _despised_ to admit it - hadn’t _actually_ done anything wrong. Yet. It was a matter of time.

“What am _I_ doing? What’s everyone _else_ doing?” Tailgate paused to take a shaky breath. “I’m out of action for six months and - and - and _this!”_ Ah, yes, Megatron in charge of your ship _would_ be a rather nasty thing to wake up to. _“Him!_ How come he’s even allowed to _be_ here?! Did you throw the world’s most successful _forgive and forget party?”_ Prowl was finding that he rather liked Tailgate. Ratchet himself had hurried over to join Cyclonus in attempting to de-escalate the situation.

“Trust me, no one will ever forget what Megatron did - but what exactly do you think he’s _just done?_ Why point a gun at him _now?”_

“Because an Autobot just died and _he’s got form.”_

“No, an Autobot just _disappeared-”_

“I suggest we lock him in the engine room - I’m assuming we have an engine room - until we’ve worked out what just happened to Crosscut.” Reluctantly (Prowl wanted it on the record that he did this to avoid drawing attention to himself), he opened the gestalt bond and inquisitively pinged about the situation.

Instead of words or thoughts, one of them (Long Haul?) pressed a memory through the bond.

* * *

_“The commodification of knowledge. I find that_ offensive.” _Long Haul had taken a moment from his gestalt’s chattering to survey the room. He spotted Prowl moving across the room - he stopped to admire the way the mech moved, the way the light dulled reflected off his matte polish, the way his doorwings gently swayed from side to side with each step he took, the professional and cool air he carried about him-_

 _“I’m actually working on a new play about how we know what we know. Working title:_ Info Creep.” _Long Haul cut off his…_ observation _of Prowl to glance over to where Cyclonus was talking with Crosscut. “Single act, single set, small cast - it’s slightly more experimental than_ My Shovel, Your Face. _You’ll have to see it twice to make sense of what’s-” The lights blinked before turning themselves back on and-_

_Long Haul stopped. He shuttered his optics. He restarted his optics._

_Crosscut was just… gone._

_“Crosscut?” Cyclonus asked, looking over at where the playwright had just been standing, looking and sounding as confused as Long Haul felt._

_“Where did he go? The lights went out and-” Hoist rushed over, looking panicked._

_“And he went with them! He’s_ gone!”

 _“No one panic.” Long Haul whipped around with the rest of the Constructicons to see Tailgate pointing a gun at Megatron._

* * *

And then suddenly the memory ended, and Long Haul - _Prowl_ was watching Megatron pull a gun on Tailgate. A ringing noise was loud in his audials.

 _Wow,_ was that disorientating.

“No one’s locking me up. Not again. Not without reason.” And oh my, didn’t _this_ remind Prowl of his days chasing down criminals back in his old precinct.

“Aw, Megs…” Riptide said, sounding falsely disappointed. “The room was on your side and you went and did _that.”_ Prowl had apparently missed the memo to grab his blaster on his way out of his habsuite. “Can’t say I was beginning to trust you - fact I pretty much _hate_ you - but I bet twenty shanix you’d _pretend_ to be good for at least another month.” Cyclonus quickly forced himself between the standoff between Tailgate, Riptide, and Megatron.

“A moment of pause - please - before this _escalates.”_ Prowl quickly joined Cyclonus in the center of the gun show - not particularly eager for someone to be an idiot, fire, and hit something _important._

“Alright, Megatron, Riptide, Tailgate - let’s just sit down and talk this out like mature, rational mechs, instead of running around and pointing guns at each other. Let’s just all lower our weapons before somebody gets hurt.”

 _“There’s_ a surprise! The _pseudo-Decepticons_ protect the _ex-Decepticon.”_ Prowl had to blink and think for a moment about that. He didn’t think he had ever been outright _called_ a Decepticon before.

“I say we lock ‘em _all_ up in the engine room.” Prowl spotted the Constructicons approaching out of the corner of his optic. That would only make the entire situation worse, so with a harsh glare and prod through the bond, he got them to back off - a bit. They still hovered nearby. _“Do_ we have an engine room?” Prowl vaguely wanted to whack his head against the wall - was _everyone_ on board the _Lost Light_ this stupid?

“Lower your guns you fools. I’m _unarmed,”_ Cyclonus shot back at the mechs who were accusing him, and suddenly he was standing back-to-back with _Cyclonus,_ of all mechs. 

“What’s that on your back then - a tin-opener with a _hilt?”_

“Cool it, guys!” Tailgate said, jumping to their defense. “Cyclonus isn’t the enemy!” Prowl was really feeling the love on this shuttle, truly.

“He’s not? Oh, I’m _sorry,_ it must’ve been the _other_ Cyclonus who murdered all those Autobots at Kimia - because if not, that makes you a **_MONUMENTAL FRIKKIN’ HYPOCRITE!”_ ** Despite the high tension situation, Prowl, in his aftport Prowl way, took a moment to consider why they were bothering to keep their PG rating.

And then suddenly, in all of this confusion, Megatron was shooting, people were screaming, and Megatron had an unconscious Ravage in his hands.

Prowl offhandedly wondered if he should even continue questioning what was happening anymore.

“At ease everyone. I’ve got him. He’s unconscious.” Megatron announced. Prowl, personally, didn’t see how that solved the problem at _all,_ but what was the point of questioning _anything_ at this point?

“What’s Ravage doing here?” Hound asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Has he been here the whole time? Was he on the _Lost Light?”_ Prowl felt that was an obvious _yes_ unless Ravage or Soundwave had suddenly developed the ability to teleport - and wasn’t _that_ a frightening prospect?

 _“I don’t know,”_ Megatron replied more forcefully. “I know you think I do, but I don’t.” He almost sounded as if there _wasn’t_ a perfectly reasonable thought process to think that he would know.

Meanwhile, Tailgate and Cyclonus were having their own little lovers spat.

“I know you think I should’ve played that _differently,_ but-” Cyclonus angrily snatched the gun out of Tailgate’s hand. “Ouch! Hey!” he complained. “Careful! That finger saved the world!” Prowl was ready to give up on anything making sense.

“Don’t _ever_ do that to me again. You made a _fool_ of yourself. You could’ve got yourself killed.” And with that, Cyclonus stormed off, firearm clutched tightly enough within his grasp that Prowl could see it beginning to buckle from the pressure. Getaway smoothly slid in to fill the void that Cyclonus had left with his frustrated exit.

“Chin up, scout. He’s just worried about you.” Prowl raised an optic ridge. He remembered Getaway, the mech had always been rather charismatic, though he had to admit that he had never seen someone like Getaway hanging out with Tailgate… though he supposed he couldn’t really see Cyclonus jumping to Tailgate’s defense either, so just decided to leave that whole situation well alone.

“Pulling a gun on Megatron? I reckon you’ve got more backbone than the rest of us put together.” That felt like a blatant lie, everybody had been more than happy to aim their blasters at Megatron, but Prowl could really care less at that point. Getaway spotted Prowl at that point. He gave him a quick nod and a “Hey, Boss.”

Prowl nodded back before wandering off. He could see the Constructicons hovering around him on the periphery of his vision, but this day had already been so exhausting that he couldn’t really care to do more than give them an annoyed ping over the gestalt bond.

“Megatron?” he turned to look at Nautica crouched on the floor, looking tense. “Look at the room.” He, Prowl, and many others began to check out the room, trying to see whatever it was that Nautica saw.

“What about it?”

“Does it look _emptier_ to you?” Megatron paused to do a quick headcount.

“We’ve lost six more!” Prowl looked around to clarify this for himself - there were definitely fewer mechs than there had been before… Chromedome himself had disappeared, and he wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved that that was one less person to avoid, or concerned.

Aaaand now the Constructicons were plastered to his side. _Wonderful._

“You’re not gonna disappear are you Prowl?”

“Yeah, you’re Prowl, you can’t be defeated by a stupid magic trick!”

“What if _we_ start disappearing?”

“Has Hook disappeared?”

And then suddenly there was a rush of distressed pings running across the gestalt bond that was making _Prowl_ panic - so he cut off the gestalt bond, causing the hefty frames around him to flinch and look at him like kicked turbofoxes.

“Question for the room!” Nightbeat suddenly declared, capturing Prowl’s attention, shifting his mind from the tugging he could feel on his spark. “Who here was _forged,_ and who was _constructed cold?”_

* * *

_“You’re from Petrex, aren’t you?” Rung asked inquisitively when his youth was brought up._

_“Constructed and worked,” Prowl responded dryly._

_“Forgive me if this comes off a bit forward, but… Petrex was governed by Functionists, was it not?” Prowl felt the snap against his protoform as his plating quickly clamped down defensively._

_“It was,” he responded stiffly. Rung sighed, sensing his defensiveness before Prowl could even snark back at him._

_“Did you ever get in trouble with the functionalist government?”_

_Prowl made a non-committal noise, refusing to look in Rung’s direction._

_“Prowl, could you give me a yes or no answer, at the very least?” Prowl sighed, crossing his arms and glowering at the ceiling above the stupid therapy couch he was awkwardly reclined upon._

_“Yes. Several times.”_

_“Is there any particular offenses or complaints that the Functionists filed against you that you would feel comfortable sharing?”_

“No.” _Rung sighed. Prowl wasn’t cooperating much, but at least he was getting more definitive answers out of him._

_“Alright then. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you were also the only cold constructed mech within Autobot high command, were you not?” Prowl’s armored fluffed out a smidge, and his EM field gave a brief, prideful brush against Rung’s loose and friendly one._

_“I was.” Prowl didn’t offer anything more. Rung began wondering if he was going to have to start asking more pointed questions to see if Prowl would offer a few slightly more substantial answers._

_“Has being cold constructed ever affected you in any way?” Rung asked, wondering if he would give a simple one or two-word answer, or if perhaps a few details would be shared? Prowl offered extra information so rarely, and Rung was hesitant to push him too much, knowing the mech would easily become defensive._

_“You know what?” Prowl said instead of giving the typical negative or affirmative. “There are a few instances I could refer to, but let me talk about one that_ you _should know about. You want a deep answer, you can get a deep answer. You were there when former Chief Justice Tyrest activated his killswitch, correct?”_

Oh. _That was a bit more forward than Rung was used to Prowl being with his answers._

 _“I remember the feeling of my spark burning out - I couldn’t control anything I did, I collapsed, writhing on the ground, and my whole world was reduced to the agony that I felt within my core. I wasn’t able to keep the gestalt bond closed - so it was that, plus the echoes I could feel from a couple of the Constructicons. It hurt like nothing I had ever felt before - it was probably what I would describe as hell - how else can you explain feeling your spark burning out, yet being fully conscious and painfully aware of you spark slowly burning, slowing giving in to a crushing force that you can’t identify?” Prowl took a deep breath and recollected himself, “It’s just - that was_ terrifying.”

_Rung sat there, silently making notes as Prowl talked, afraid of saying anything and snapping Prowl out of whatever honest reverie he had found himself in._

_“And you know what the worst part is? It’s all my fault that any of that happened to me anyways. Mesothulas, Aequitas, the trials, the killswitch - all of it is ultimately my fault. I’m the one who had gone to Mesothulas for help, it was our partnership that eventually led to him building Aequitas - I could’ve stopped him, I wanted to stop him, but I didn’t. I knew the ethics of the project were questionable - all of Autobot high command knew they were.” Prowl gave a dry, hollow laugh. “Mesothulas built the computer, the Aequitas trials were held, and they only found cold constructed sparks guilty. Rodimus was more than happy to brag about how his crew had stopped the evil Chief Justice Tyrest - I was simply able to connect the dots.” He paused, looking at the ceiling. Rung waited to see if Prowl had anything more to add._

_“What does that say about me? I-” he stopped, and his face twisted as he considered his next words. “I don’t believe that all cold constructed sparks are inherently guilty, but I can’t help but feel as if I-” Prowl shook his head as if abandoning the thought. “Nevermind. My point is, in essence, I’ve targeted myself for being cold constructed.” He turned his head and glared Rung in the optics. “Is that the deep, in-depth, bare my stuttering, failing spark answer you were looking for?”_

_Rung decided not to answer that trap of a question, instead trying to see if he could detangle Prowl’s… guilt complex. Out of all the things Rung had expected to come up in their sessions, guilt was not very high up on the list, but as a therapist, he was rather good at going with the flow._

_“Did you or Mesothulas come up with Aequitas?” he asked instead. Prowl stared at the ceiling, seemingly having to think about the answer for a few seconds._

_“I remember Mesothulas being rather…_ excited _by the prospect of trying to build something as impossible as a machine that could detect guilt.” Rung nodded and made a note to see if Prowl would be willing to talk more about this Mesothulas character later - his voice gained an odd tone every time he said his name._

_“Have you considered that, since the idea and function were so very out there in the first place, Mesothulas might have made a mistake, and therefore it would only declare a cold constructed ‘bot guilty?”_

_“He didn’t make mistakes often - he was very good at what he did, it’s why we worked together so often.”_

_“But could he have?” Prowl hesitated in his answer, continuing to stare at the ceiling as if it held the answers to life._

_“I suppose.”_

_“It’s not impossible, do you truly believe that every single forged mech they brought to stand trial was innocent? You used to work in mechaforensics if I’m not mistaken. How often was the criminal a forged mech?” His face scrunched up, glaring as if he didn’t want to admit anything to himself._

_“45.78 percent of the time.”_

_“Using that statistic, out of the thousands of Aequitas trials held, what exactly are the chances that every single forged that Aequitas judged were innocent, and every single crime was committed by a cold constructed mech?”_

_“Extremely low.” Prowl’s voice sounded much smaller and quieter than it had before._

_“What are the chances that Mesothulas made a mistake - higher or lower?”_

_It was quiet for a long moment - an uncomfortably extended time of silence._

_“Higher.” Rung had to lean forward to hear Prowl’s whispered answer._

_“Then what are you blaming yourself for?”_

_There was no answer this time._

_They sat in silence for the remaining 45 minutes of their hour-long session._

* * *

_“Oof!_ Personal!” Riptide said, putting a hand on his cocked hip. “Where’d _that_ come from?” Night beat smiled exuberantly as he gestured at the board that Nautica had been used earlier to explain the quantum engines of the _Lost Light,_ now evenly divided in two, with one side labeled ‘F’ and the other ‘CC’.

“I’m trying to _categorize_ us. It may be that the… whatever we want to call it - ‘The Phenomenon’ - is targeting one of the two creation types.” Prowl could have said that there was technically more than two, but that would’ve taken so much backstory and personal details that he decided that it just wasn’t worth the effort - plus it obviously didn’t apply to the situation. “I was constructed cold. The first of the First Wave, actually - back before they had _issues_ with sparks being placed in prefab bodies.”

“I’m the same as you,” Getaway offered from his place next to Skids (Prowl had heard enough about the _Lost Light’s_ previous adventures to know that Skids had been forced to use his Nudge Gun on himself - which meant he most likely didn’t remember most of their interactions), “constructed cold - but I’m Second Wave. I was created after the Silver Harvest - after they rediscovered the Spark Reserves.”

“You’re an M.T.O., aren’t you?” Skids asked inquisitively. Getaway straightened and put in his hands on his hips in a proud manner.

“Yep! My full name is _Getaway of the Corcapsia Incursion.”_

Prowl stood back, listening to everyone talk about all the weird and odd M.T.O. names they had heard before, but paying more attention to Nightbeat and Megatron as they talked.

“What about _you,_ Megatron? Forged or constructed cold?” Nightbeat asked, looking ready to bounce on pedes in excitement, as he always did when there was a mystery to solve.

“No one has a right to know how a fellow Cybertronian was created.” Megatron had clearly never heard of medical and personnel files, but Prowl decided the bigger thing was to focus on figuring out whether or not his audials were glitching or if he had just heard Megatron say ‘fellow Cybertronian’. How progressive of him. “There’s a thin line between categorization and segregation, and I never want to see it crossed again.” Prowl decided to just leave that statement alone, and to analyze it some other time, because _wow._

“I know - and I happen to agree with you. But this is _important.”_ Everything pertaining to a potential mystery was classified as ‘important’ to Nightbeat. “It seems the only people being taken are those were forged - who grew out of Cybertron itself.”

Oh, now on _that_ Prowl could call it.

“Hate to burst your bubble, Nightbeat, but here’s one thing I _do_ know - Chromedome was First Wave, not forged.” Nightbeat looked stricken at Prowl’s words.

“Gotta back Prowl up, here,” Ratchet said, making his way over. “Sorry to torpedo your theory, Nightbeat, but I was forged - even my replacement hands were forged - and I’ve not yet been taken.” He threw up his arms dramatically to help emphasize his point. “I’ve also read everyone’s Med-Specs and personal files, and with a couple of exceptions… I know exactly who was _born_ and who was _built.”_

Prowl vaguely wondered why Ratchet hadn’t bothered to bring this fact up earlier but decided that it wasn’t the moment to press the issue as Nightbeat leaned against one of the pilots chairs, a hand pressed to head.

“Okay, so if not creation types, what is it? What am I _missing?_ Think, think, think, think,” he muttered under his breath, deep in thought.

“Hey, Riptide - remember the Ten Step Program?”

“Ten? It was down to _eight_ by the time I came online.” Oh, that was a conversation Prowl did _not_ want to get involved in. He turned around to see if there were other opportunities only to see the Constructicons still hovering nearby. Prowl sighed, picking his poison and turning around to join the M.T.O. conversation before one of the Constructicons hesitantly asked a question.

“Do we know what’s happenin’ Prowl?” Mixmaster asked, wringing his servos together as he glanced around the increasingly empty looking cabin. Prowl sighed and looked to ceiling to ask _Primus, why me?_

“No. If you want to know what’s going on, go have a conversation with Nightbeat, _not me,”_ he responded glaring at them as they huddled together in front of him. They shuffled their pedes, looking at each other as if daring one another to be the next one to ask him a question.

“Are we gonna disappear?” Bonecrusher asked, looking uncharacteristically worried.

“Probably.” He didn’t want to, but never let it be said that Prowl let an opportunity pass by to be an insensitive prick.

Suddenly there was a distressed ping coming through the gestalt bond, and all the Constructicons became even more concerned, their plating clamping down on their frames and EM fields sizzling with agitated charge.

 _:: The_ Medicia’s _disappeared, ::_ Hook grouched through the bond.

 _:: It’s taking shuttles now too? ::_ Scavenger asked, panicking, ignoring the flicker of the lights.

 _:: It took the_ Lost Light, _why wouldn’t it be able to take the shuttles? ::_ Prowl snapped. Everything paused, and all the Constructicons looked at him in surprise, while a shocked pull washed through the bond. Prowl suddenly realized that it was the first time he had actually bothered to _talk_ through the bond, rather than send agitated or demanding pings. He clamped his armor to his protoform before clamping the gestalt bond as well and walking away from the Constructicons in a huff. He walked over to Nightbeat, ignoring the longing tug that strained his spark.

“It’s not just taking ‘bots, it’s taking shuttles as well,” he informed the detective, who was crouched over Cyclonus’ sword - which meant that the aforementioned mech had disappeared, great. Nightbeat perked up and glanced at him.

“Really?” he asked excitedly before he began to look around the room questioningly. “Why do I get the feeling I’m being _stared at?”_

“Why do you all look so _tiny?”_ Prowl jerked and whipped around, only to see a huge brown human eye staring at all of them. “Oh, bear with me. I think I need to _rescale,”_ What Prowl now recognized as a holomatter avatar began to shrink down, eventually stopping at just under Megatron’s height - it was at the very least a ‘bot who had been on Earth, as he could recognize the avatar as Verity Carlo.

“I _know you…”_ Megatron said, looking at the avatar consideringly.

“Of course you do - I’m Ultra Magnus.” Ah, that made sense. “Unless you’re referring to my holomatter avatar.”

“You’re a hologram?” Prowl had no idea why Megatron sounded so confused about the whole matter.

“Solid light. My shuttle’s nearby - close enough, _finally,_ for me to reach you by remote projection.” Megatron began talking to Magnus in low tones, but he responded at a normal level.

“All I know is that I’m the only one left on the _Leading Light._ Everyone else has _disappeared.”_

“It’s happening here, too.”

“But it’s not just people - the _shuttles_ are disappearing too. The _Leading Light_ and the RodPod are the only two left.” Well, at least Prowl knew what the shuttle he was on was called.

“Er…” Everybody tuned to where Tailgate was on the tips of his pedes on a crate, peaking out one of the viewports. “Are you _sure,_ Magnus? I can’t see your shuttle anywhere.”

“That’s _odd,_ I -” Magnus cocked a hip and looked down at himself, a hand on his chin. “I can’t sense my body. My _proper_ body. I think… I think I’ve just disappeared. But if I’ve disappeared, how come I’m still-” the holomatter avatar fizzled out of existence, “-here?”

“Okay, that’s _the final straw,”_ Nightbeat said, walking over to where Ratchet stood with a determined gait. “Ratchet!” He thrust the marker for the board in his hand. “You’ve seen everyone’s files. Take everything you about the Autobots who boarded this ship and _write it down.”_ Prowl could feel a vague urge to channel his inner Ultra Magnus and say something about patient privacy, but it really wasn’t the time to be complaining. _“Everything,_ doc: spark type, religion, past affiliations, _conjunx endurae,_ health scares, whatever.” Wow, this situation was getting personal fast. _“Somewhere_ in there is a pattern that connects the ones who have been taken.”

“But - what makes you think the _rest_ of us aren’t going to disappear too, in the end?” Ah, Ratchet. Always there with the quality questions.

“Now you listen to me - I’m not going _anywhere_ until I’ve worked out what’s happening!” Nightbeat shouted, using angry gestures to drill his point in. Prowl had almost forgotten how obsessive the ‘bot could get over mysteries.

“Alright, alright,” Ratchet muttered, quickly writing on the board the spark types and notable health conditions of each of the bots that were on board, past and present.

“That’s a _lot_ of information…” Skids piped up a few minutes later, before turning away to look at Megatron, “... but what’s it actually _telling_ us?” Prowl could see Skids’ point. It was quite a bit of information, but none of it held any detectable pattern that he could observe - and going by the frustrated look on Nightbeat’s face, neither could he.

“It’s telling us that Ratchet was _right:_ there’s no pattern,” Megatron responded. “We’re all going to disappear in the end, and to think otherwise is utterly-” the lights cut out once more, “-delusional.” The lights flickered back on, and the room was a bit more empty.

“So long, Swerve. You too, Tailgate,” Skids said, kneeling next to where the two minibots had stood just a few seconds prior, running his fingers lightly over Cyclonus’ sword that had plummeted to the ground once more. “Everyone else accounted for?” he asked, glancing at Nightbeat.

“Not entirely,” he responded, picking up Ratchet’s hand via the marker they had been holding just before Ratchet disappeared which was - Prowl found it a bit weird that that’s what was left behind. “Ratchet left his hands behind - and they seemed to have changed color…”

“Technically, those are _Pharma’s_ hands,” Skids offered, looking a bit disturbed at the way the now blue hands were frozen, hanging onto the marker. Prowl ignored another tug on his spark.

“Oh jeez, the whole Pharma/Delphi thing…!” Riptide said excitedly, moving his arms in an ecstatic manner, seeming to forget the upcoming doom of all of them. “Swerve told me all about it during the Crewditions.” And wasn’t Prowl glad he had missed _those._ Just the name set off alarm bells in his mind. “You lot got up to some crazy stuff when you were away.”

“Wait,” Nightbeat said, quickly gesturing for Riptide to stop. _“What_ did you just say?”

“I… said you lot got up to some crazy stuff while you were away,” Riptide said, looking confounded about the whole situation.

“But you were there too - right from the start. You were there when Drift bought the _Lost Light…”_ Prowl had no idea what Nightbeat was attempting to get at with the new thread he was following, but lacking any better ideas, let him interrogate Riptide, who quickly picked up where Nightbeat had trailed off.

“I was, yes - and then I offered to go back to get a receipt. Some about the two NAILs made me twitchy. I saw them talking hand from a distance and yep, sure enough, they were dodgy as hell - not only were they Mortilus worshippers, they were hiding from the crew of the _Alchemy Seven._ They’d been caught trying to steal a brace of turbofoxes. None of my business, I thought - until they started talking about how the ship they’d just sold had a _sparkeater_ in the basement…” perhaps it was a good thing the _Lost Light_ had disappeared after all, “... and how they had to get off-planet before Drift found out. I decided to _say something._ And in keeping with the preferred method of communication, I let my fists do the talking.” Prowl was beginning to wonder how much of Riptide’s brain module was constructed of witty one-liners. “Unfortunately, they had a lot more to say than I did. They beat me up and left me for dead, and by the time I regained consciousness two days later, the _Lost Light_ had left.” As Riptide talked, a jubilant smile had slowly started growing across Nightbeat’s face. “Why are you smiling?” Riptide asked him indignantly. “I was left behind!”

“You certainly were! Left behind then, and left behind now! HA!” ah, it was beginning to sound as if Riptide’s little anecdote had somehow given Nightbeat the key to solving ‘The Phenomenon’.

“Er - and the joke is…?” Getaway asked, tilting his head in confusion at Nightbeat’s unadulterated glee.

 _“Skids!”_ Nightbeat cried instead of answering. “You joined the crew of the _Lost Light_ a few hours after they set off, when they set down for repairs. Am I right?” He didn’t even pause for Skids to answer before moving on. “And _Getaway_ \- Rodimus found you on _Luna 1._ Nautica - you met the crew on _Hydrophena,_ hours before they jumped back to Cybertron…” Something clicked in Prowl’s mind, much in the same way it had clicked for Nightbeat. _Oh._ “... And it was on Cybertron that the rest of us - Me, Megatron, Riptide, Prowl, the Constructicons, even Ravage - found our way on board. Don’t you see?” he asked excitedly to a group of faces that were slowly beginning to grasp what he was trying to tell them. “Everyone who disappeared today - everyone we know about - _They were part of the original_ Lost Light _crew!”_ Megatron appeared over Nightbeat’s shoulder, looking relatively unimpressed with his show of logic and reason. “And I bet you - I bet you _anything_ \- that none of _us_ are at risk. No more disappearances!” Despite keeping the bond closed, Prowl could feel the relief rolling off of them in waves - that might just be their EM fields, since they seem to have no concept of _personal space._

Nightbeat turned dramatically to face Megatron, gigantic grin still plastered onto his face. “Mystery solved!”

“Well done,” Megatron said sarcastically, looking down at Nightbeat with a condescending look on his face.

“Thank you,” Nightbeat said, taking a theatrical bow. “Want to say it again and mean it?” he remarked cheekily. Instead of doing such a thing, he stepped up right against Nightbeat and loomed menacingly over the blue and yellow ‘bot.

“You failed,” he told him simply.

“What?” Nightbeat asked, looking insulted.

“You _failed,”_ Megatron reiterated, voice taking on an agitated growl. “You solved the mystery, but only after everyone was taken. You were too slow to save them.” 

“Yes, but - at least I worked out what was happening. That has to count for _something,_ doesn’t it?” Nightbeat looked down at his hand questioningly as Megatron moved away. “Doesn’t it?” he asked himself in a much lower and insecure tone.

“Megatron? We’re here,” Nautica called over his shoulder. “Ofsted XVII. We’re approaching orbit.”

“And yet you sound _troubled,”_ Megatron replied, approaching the console. Prowl followed to see what the fuss was about. “What is it, Nautica? What’s the matter?”

The temperature in the shuttle felt as if it had dropped as they all crowded around the main viewport only to see the _Lost Light,_ already there and absolutely _wrecked_ and in _pieces._

“We’re not the first to arrive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a struggle to get through - this issue is entirely in one setting, with no switches between different groups in different places - so I had to write through the whole thing, which was a bit of a struggle lemme tell you.  
> I started rushing towards the end and I think it shows.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter we got to look a bit into Prowl's head, progressed the plot a bit, and set a baseline for his interactions with the Constructicons! Let's see where this story takes us!
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Constructicons are horny on main for their sixth, Overlord is found in the basement, Rung discusses trust and friendship with Prowl, and Prowl gets shook(TM).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than the last chapter, but plenty still happens!  
> Please enjoy these barely proofread five thousand words I bequeath upon you.
> 
> Quick note: The Constructicons use she/her for Nautica because they're caught up with the times, but Prowl refers to her as he/him because he doesn't go outside and talk to people.

“It’s _us,”_ Nautica breathed in shock. “It’s the _Lost Light,_ I’m _telling_ you!” She paused to look at the wreckage for a second longer, considering her words. “Okay so it’s _been ripped apart,_ but-” she paused again, “-that’s our ship!” Getaway looked from the ship to Nautica and back to the ship again.

 _“Er-_ the ship we just saw disappear…” he trailed off confusedly.

“Do you know of any other ship with fuel quills that shade of red?” Prowl asked, gesturing to the aforementioned part of the vessel. “And look that way-” heads turned to see what Prowl was pointing at, “you can see the quantum engines over there.” The Constructricons leaned on the tips of their pedes to view what Prowl was referencing, and, sure enough, in the distance, one could see the quantum engines - the source of all the red stuff that the RodPod was slowly navigating through.

“Alright, so it’s the _Lost Light,”_ Getaway conceded, nodding his head. “But how?”

“Two words: _paradox,”_ answered Riptide, a clever smile on his face. The entire shuttle paused for a second, waiting to hear whatever the second word was, before shortly realizing there wasn’t one. Skids quickly moved on, turning to face Megatron.

“Riptide’s right, even if his spelling isn’t.”

“Banking it,” Riptide said, a huge grin on his face. Prowl sent him a disgusted look. Bonecrusher swooned before Mixmaster smacked him out of it.

“You think that’s the _Lost Light_ from the future?” Megatron asked skeptically, raising an optic ridge. Hook was having a right laugh as they broadcasted the situation to him over the gestalt bond. Prowl was still ignoring them.

“I think _future Rodimus_ \- coffin Rodimus - must’ve hailed from a _future Lost Light…”_ Skids responded, “...and this is it.” gestured at the destroyed ship. 

“What are those _threads?”_ Nightbeat asked. “Over there - like a web. The red stuff.” Nautica perked up, a concerned look on her face saying she knew the answer and that it wasn’t good news.

“That’s _quantum foam…_ and it’s not supposed to be exposed to naked space. I think it’s _mutated.”_ Nautica paused for a second as she considered the few options they had. “Best not fly too close. I suspect the _merest graze_ would-” The shuttle suddenly jerked and went awful close to the web that Nautica had literally just told them to avoid. Everybody turned to stare accusingly at Riptide, who was piloting the ship. Getaway huffed agitatedly.

“Did you do that on purpose?” he griped

 _“No!”_ Riptide snapped back defensively. “What would I do that on purpose?”

“Because you strike me as one of those _‘don’t push the button’_ types. ‘Don’t push the button.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Presses button.’ _‘Boom!’”_ Getaway said, pointing accusingly.

“...ridiculous,” Riptide muttered, as he sulkily turned back to face where Megatron was gaining his attention.

“You’re _all_ idiots,” Prowl mumbled.

“Up ahead-” Megatron pointed, ignoring Prowl’s comment, “the front section of the ship is exposed, but the vacuum shields appear to be holding. They’ll reseal if we break through.

“So?” Riptide asked confusedly.

“So _land,”_ Megatron hissed.

“Where?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “Just pick a large enough room and set us down for repairs.”

* * *

“Hey, this is Swerve’s,” Getaway said as they looked around the destroyed room they had landed in. The Constructicons filed off the RodPod, milling around Prowl (but not getting too close, in fear that he would yell at them again).

“Are you sure?” Nautica asked, looking around skeptically. The Constructicons languidly poked at Prowl through the bond, only to get a sharp jab and harsh glare in return. 

“It’s been _trashed,”_ Nightbeat commented, staring up at a melted hole in the ceiling.

“Must’ve been a good night,” Riptide responded.

“When isn’t it a good night?” Mixmaster asked rhetorically, thinking back to how Swerve’s would always end up filled with rowdy, drunk mechs looking to party each night. Long Haul, Scavenger, and Bonecrusher hummed their assent while Hook simply scoffed over the gestalt bond.

“Hard to tell with all the debris,” Nautica said, moving over to where Nightbeat was investigating. “But… is it even a bar? It looks more like a _performance space.”_ She peered closer at the rubble, tipping her visor up to get a less obstructed view.

“Did you ever-” Nightbeat began to ask before Nautica interrupted him. Prowl wandered over to get a better look at the ruins as well, and the Constructicons didn’t dare to follow him over, scared that he would notice them crowding him (and getting scolded by Prowl was not a fun experience).

“Goodness no. Actually go on stage and-?” Nautica said, shaking her head. “Nooo, no, no, no.”

“Any idea of what might’ve been performed?” Prowl asked inquisitively, surveying chunks of the rubble with a critical eye. Riptide whistled to catch their attention, over where he stood by a release poster.

“I don’t remember this being here…” he said, gesturing to the poster, dramatically titled _‘How Long Can You Go Without Answers: Information Creep’._ Getaway, who was closest, hummed his interest. Long Haul simply widened his eyes comically, relaying his realization to the rest of his gestalt through the bond.

“It’s the play Crosscut said he was working on,” he mused. “But how come it’s _written?_ We just saw him disappear…”

“We decided that this _Lost Light_ was a future _Lost Light,_ remember?” Prowl said, coming over to look at the poster, joined by Nightbeat.

“At some point we’re going to find a way to bring everyone back, which is good,” Nightbeat said, eager to look at the silver lining. Skids glanced at him, looking unimpressed.

“Except we bring them back in time for the ship to be torn apart. Which is-”

“-bad. Yes, point taken.” Riptide looked past where the two of them were bantering, a displeased look crossing his face.

“Speaking of _bad things…”_ he muttered sullenly, gesturing to direct their attention to where Megatron was exiting the RodPod with Ravage at his heels, “...here’s the worst.”

Unlike the rest of the crew there, the Constructicons were relatively used to the presence of both Megatron and Ravage, so while they didn’t shy away in disgust like the rest of the _Lost Light_ crew present, they weren’t exactly comfortable. Neither mech nor feline was known for having much patience. Hook snickered at their dilemma.

“I’ve not carried out a _formal consultation,_ Megatron,” Riptide started, a disgruntled look on his face, “but I’m pretty sure everyone here hates your _new best friend.”_

“By all legal means, Ravage should be locked up,” Prowl scowled.

“Scowly Prowly,” Scavenger muttered to the other Constructicons, causing them to giggle and chuckle, and earning a withering glare in retaliation from Prowl.

“Yeah, what’s with the team up?” Skids asked. “Ravage _attacked_ us.” Nautica scoffed and strolled forward fearlessly, deaf to the mutual cringes of the collected Autobots and Decepticons as she knelt down to coo at Ravage, patting his head.

“Maybe she was just scared.” Nobody felt inclined to interrupt the vaguely tense moment to correct Nautica’s pronoun. “It that right, poppet? Were you scared? Did the noise and the lights scare you?” Prowl wheezed as Nautica continued talking, everybody minus Megatron looking a similarly vague look of disturbed and amused. _“Aww,_ you’d make a lovely pet.” Bonecrusher choked, and Hook was full-on cackling, as his lack of presence meant that he could say whatever, consequences be damned. “Those big bright eyes and-”

All amusement of the situation was quickly lost when Ravage swiped sharply at her face, Nautica only just barely flinching back in time. “Hey!” she exclaimed.

“Hah!” Megatron exclaimed, a slag-eating look on his face. “Ravage isn’t anyone’s pet.”

“Correct,” Skids hissed in a displeased voice. “He’s the _enemy.”_

“Yes, and he’ll have to account for his actions later - _after_ he’s helped sniff out the crew,” Megatron replied.

“I would like it on the record,” Prowl seethed, “that _none_ of us are happy with this.”

“Noted,” Megatron said simply. Prowl shot him an indignant, offended look as if he couldn’t believe that Megatron had just ‘noted’ him. The Constructicons found themselves feeling notably less comfortable as the seconds went by, not really confident enough to take a particular side, instead choosing to stay out of it.

“We should split up,” Nautica said, not really noticing the tension in the room. “Two teams.”

 _:: She really did miss the war, ::_ Long Haul commented through the bond, wondering how it was so easy for someone to ignore obvious faction tensions like that.

 _:: She’s from a colony world, remember? Camila or something like that, ::_ Scavenger responded, chipping in his own two cents.

 _:: Caminus, ::_ Hook corrected primly.

_:: Yeah, that place. They never got involved in the War, remember? ::_

_:: Hard not too, ::_ Mixmaster said. _:: She’s always talking about things back on Caminus. ::_

 _:: ‘Caminus this, Caminus that,’ ::_ Bonecrusher mocked.

 _:: Oh, shut up, Bonecrusher, ::_ Hook admonished. _:: You say that as if there’s never anything you talk about all the time. ::_

 _:: Oh, yeah? And what would that be? ::_ Bonecrusher challenged, his engine growling low.

 _:: ‘Ooh, have you guys ever heard of that time Prowl did this? Have you ever seen Prowl do that? Have you ever seen Prowl’s sweet aft?’ ::_ Scavenger mocked, his voice taking on a pitch several octaves above than his own, which was already higher than Bonecrusher’s. Bonecrusher whacked him over the head, causing the smaller Conestructicon to whine lowly at him.

 _:: Like you’ve never done literally the exact same thing, ::_ Long Haul accused.

 _:: Long Haul, I hate to remind you, but you talk about Prowl a lot as well, ::_ Mixmaster pointed out, a smug grin on his face.

_:: Do not! ::_

_:: Sorry to disappoint you guys, but you_ all _talk about Prowl a lot, ::_ Hook said simply.

 _:: And you don’t? ::_ Mixmaster grouched in response.

 _:: Of course not, ::_ Hook responded primly. _:: I have standards for my conduct. ::_

 _:: Oh, so I didn’t catch you totally checking out his backside yesterday? Because I definitely saw that, ::_ Scavenger said.

_:: Shut up. ::_

_:: I could share the memory through the gestalt bond, and then who knows? Maybe Prowl could see your undying love for him~ ::_

_:: Don’t you dare, you little slagger. ::_

_:: Admit that we’re all glitches for Prowl - including you - and I’ll consider your request. ::_

_:: I’m not saying that. ::_

Scavenger, in a rare show of true courage, tentatively poked at Prowl through the gestalt bond, getting harshly snapped at in return before the bond was clamped off from his side again. He was too quick to notice the brief flare of panic that washed through, originating from Hook. He hissed one more time before conceding to Scavenger’s demands.

 _:: We’re… ::_ Scavenger prodded him along happily, trying to get him to complete the sentence.

 _:: Yes? ::_ he implored. _:: Come on, you can say it. ::_

 _:: We’re all glitches for Prowl, ::_ Hook rushed out quickly, sounding eager to get it over with. _:: There. Happy? ::_

 _:: Very, ::_ Scavenger purred.

“Constructicons!” a loud call snapped them out of their trance. They hadn’t even noticed that they had fallen so deeply into the bond. They immediately refocused their attention to notice Megatron and Ravage begin herded into a storage closet, while Getaway impatiently held another open for them.

“For safety reasons, we need you to get into the storage closet and stay there until we come to get you,” Skids said, probably the most neutral one there - Riptide didn’t look too happy staring at them either. It was Mixmaster who noticed something was off.

“Where’s Prowl?”

* * *

_The Other Half Of The Ship_

“The last twenty-four hours have been _exceptionally_ odd,” Nightbeat remarked as they wandered walked down the hallway towards the elevator.

“More so than usual, that’s for sure,” Prowl said, staring inquisitively at the many holes in the walls around them.

“Tell me about it,” Nautica prompted. Nightbeat looked thrilled for somebody to take an interest in his day so far.

“Disappearing people, disappearing _ships,_ data ghosts, dead doppelgängers…” he trailed off.

“I’m pretty sure data ghosts don’t exist, Nightbeat,” Prowl remarked dryly. Nautica whacked him over the head for his comment. “Hey!”

“Lots of d’s. And when did you see a data ghost?”

“This morning, in Chromedome’s hab suite.” Prowl frowned. Of course, it came back to Chromedome. “Rewind - his _conjunx endura_ -” he elaborated for Nautica’s benefit, “- was standing there in the doorway.” Nautica looked at him and made a confused noise. “Rewind’s _dead.”_

“Oh!” Nautica exclaimed in surprise. Prowl pointedly looked forward at the approaching elevator.

“Sorry, yes, he got killed.”

“Oh,” He said in shock. “That’s really sad.” They walked in silence for a few seconds longer before Nightbeat decided to change the subject.

“Do you have a _conjunx endura?_ Or any _amica endurae?_ Do they practice any form of elective kinship on Caminus?” he rattled one question off after another, a slow, amused smile appearing on Nautica’s face. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because _you!”_ Nautica giggled. “Your _questions!_ Anyone else would _sidle up_ to a subject like that…”

“Not Nightbeat,” Prowl remarked.

“Gah, who’s got the time to tiptoe?” the aforementioned mech scoffed.

“Well,” Nautica started to respond, a grin still on his face, “the answers are no, yes, and yes. What about you? Ever had a sparkmate?”

“Nah,” Nightbeat responded flippantly. “But then I _am_ pretty insufferable.”

The moment passed as they arrived at the end of the hall in silence, and Nautica crouched down to begin working on the elevator.

“Silent howls of protest,” Nightbeat muttered sullenly.

“I hope you stop and listen to yourself sometimes,” Prowl said.

“What about you Prowl? The Constructicons? They your sparkmates?” Nautica asked curiously. “They certainly talk as if they are.”

“They’re _not_ my sparkmates, they’re my gestalt,” he answered moodily, a frown on his face and plating clamping closer to his protoform defensively.

“How did _you_ of all people end up with the Constructicons?” Nightbeat asked inquisitively. “Didn’t think Autobot Decepticon pairings would’ve become a thing so fast.”

“They’re not,” Prowl hissed. “I was implanted with a cerebro shell by Bombshell, forcibly reformatted into a combiner, and surgically bonded into the Constructicon gestalt on Megatron’s orders. There. That’s the short version.” Nautica and Nightbeat had both paused to stare at him as he talked.

“... surgically bonded? _Forcibly reformatted?”_ Nautica asked incredulously.

“Yikes,” Nightbeat responded simply.

“But the Constructicons seem so sweet,” Nautica muttered, sounding vaguely heartbroken.

“They’re a pain in my aft, that’s what they are,” Prowl retorted, crossing his arms as Nautica resumed her work on the elevator.

“Well, they’d certainly like in be in your aft in a different way, that’s for sure,” Nightbeat joked, causing Prowl to stare at him incredulously.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Prowl asked venomously, doorwings hiking up in a sharp, aggressive ‘v’ shape.

“They want to frag you, obviously,” he responded shortly. The elevator doors suddenly whooshed open, allowing Nightbeat to change topics as Prowl sputtered and Nautica giggled. “Did you just open the lift door with your wrench?” he asked.

“Yup,” Nautica chirped. Prowl glared at Nightbeat as they filed into the elevator.

“This isn’t over,” Prowl hissed.

“Okay then!” Nightbeat said, excited to steer the conversation away as he pressed the button for the bottom level of the _Lost Light._ “So we go to the engine rooms on level one, try to stop the foam leak, then look for the crew.” Nightbeat’s companions were stopped from responding by a loud _Ping!_ coming from Nautica’s wrench.

“Oh, _yes!”_ he exclaimed, beaming happily. “The results of the _sector sweep!”_ His wrench peeped as a small screen slid up from the handle, and Nightbeat and Prowl peered over his shoulders curiously. “I love my wrench.”

 _“Is_ it technically a wrench?” Nightbeat asked, looking skeptical.

“It’s a wrench-slash-scanner-slash- _everything._ Brainstorm added a billion extras.” A small light blipped on the wrench, causing Nautica’s grin to get even wider. “See?” There’s even a light that goes on when I’m exaggerating.”

“That’s a bit extra,” Prowl commented, raising an optical ridge at the tool.

“Perhaps,” Nautica shrugged. “But I like it. According to the wrench, this entire region of space has been _worn down._ There are signs of warp jumps, subspace incursions… Lots of recent activity.” He sounded confused, and started to shuffle his feet and began to pace as best he could in the cramped lift. “The whole environments unstable, we should watch our-”

**_THUNK_ **

_“Ow!”_ Nautica exclaimed, glaring at the floor. “Careful, guys. There’s something on the floor. Something hard.” Nightbeat swooped down and picked the object off the ground, and smiled wide as Prowl and Nautica circled around to see what he was looking at.

“Hard _and_ hard-to-believe…”

“Brainstorm’s _briefcase!”_ Nautica breathed in shock.

“He’s never let go of his briefcase any of the times I’ve ever interacted with him,” Prowl mused. Nautica nodded his agreement.

“I don’t like this. Stormy _never_ lets that out of his sight. We should find him, see if he’s okay,” he said worriedly.

“Stormy?” Prowl teased.

“Is that seriously what you took away from what I said?” Nautica asked indignantly, though there was a touch of humor to his voice that let Prowl know that it had been taken as the banter it had been intended. Prowl shrugged with a smirk on his face.

“The locks are damaged,” Nightbeat commented from where he was examining the briefcase. Nautica frowned in disapproval.

“I know what you’re thinking, and _don’t._ Whatever’s inside, I doubt it’s soft and cuddly. Soft and _lethal,_ maybe…”

“Aren’t you intrigued?” Nightbeat asked excitedly, holding the case up higher.

“No!” Nautica exclaimed from where he was turning away stubbornly and crossing his arms, nose in the air. “Maybe!” He hunched over a bit as an uncertain expression crossed his face. “I don’t know!” He whirled around to bring his hands up by his face, as if he wanted to watch but was also scared to watch the results. Prowl shrugged.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

“Majority rules!” Nightbeat whooped. “I’m going to open it. On the count of three…” Nautica put a hand over his face and turned away as if he couldn’t bear to watch, yet kept an eye open and on the proceedings anyways. “Three… two… one aaaand…” Nightbeat dramatically flipped the lid, “... _Open!”_ The moment ended anticlimactically when they peered over Nightbeat’s shoulder only to see that the case was empty.

“Um…” Nautica started.

“It’s _empty!”_

“That’s pretty obvious, Nightbeat,” Prowl said simply, ruthlessly repressing the crushing disappointment the moment had generated.

“But - what?” Nightbeat asked, an outraged look crossing his face. “That’s ridiculous! That’s absolutely-” Nautica swiped the case out of his hands, holding his glowing wrench up to it curiously, “-ridiculous!”

“Give it here,” Nautica said, causing Nightbeat to hold his hands up disarmingly. “Are you _sure_ it’s empty? Maybe there was some kind of gas inside.” He paused dramatically. _“Killer_ gas and it’s escaped.” Nightbeat and Prowl both gave her disbelieving looks.

“Escaped killer gas? Are you serious?” Nightbeat asked in disbelief.

“Okay, maybe there _is_ something inside but it’s invisible,” Nautica said defensively. Nightbeat attained an intrigued look on his face.

“What do you mean invisible? You mean _cloaked?”_

“Cloaked, invisible, same thing.”

“Not really, but okay,” Prowl muttered as peered at the briefcase as Nightbeat swiped it back from Nautica.

“Whatever Prowl, I don’t know, I’m spitballing.”

“If you’re going to cloak the contents, why not cloak the briefcase itself?”

 _“I don’t know!”_ Nautica exclaimed in frustration.

“Unless what was inside was-” the elevator pinged open as they all came to the same realization “-stolen.” A look of understanding dawned on all their faces at the same time.

“That would actually… yeah,” Nautica said, a hand thoughtfully placed on his chin. “That would actually make sense.” Prowl shrugged in his doorwings in answer as he stepped around the other two to exit the elevator, only to be met by the sight of an offline frame pinned to the far wall of the engine room.

“Wouldn’t it? An unlocked case, accessible to all…” Nightbeat trailed off mysteriously. Prowl stepped forward and flared his doorwings, trying to get a feel for the scene as he examined the body from a few feet away, not terribly eager to get too close… it was really a throwback to his days in mechaforensics.

“In which case I say close it and move on,” Nautica said, a tone of finality in his voice, and footsteps began to approach Prowl’s position before they stuttered in shock. Nautica had spotted the body then.

“And the moral of the story is life’s full of disappointments,” Nightbeat concluded. Prowl rolled his optics as he realized that Nightbeat was still on that mystery instead of realizing the one right in front of them.

“Nightbeat…” Nautica trailed off as he came to a stop besides Prowl, his optics blown wide in shock.

“Don’t expect too much,” Nightbeat elaborated.

“Nightbeat!” Nautica snapped. “Forget the stupid briefcase and _open your eyes…”_ his tapered off, vocalizer crackling a bit. Nightbeat’s face gained a frown as he looked up to see the small waste-disposal minibot pinned to the wall by an I-beam shoved violently through his chest. “It’s… Tailgate, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Nightbeat responded solemnly, “poor kid.” Nautica shakily stepped forward to take Tailgate’s offline hand in her own as Nightbeat turned away to look around the room. Prowl shifted uncomfortably at the broken look on Nautica’s face.

“First time you’ve ever seen someone you’re close to offlined?” he asked awkwardly. Nautica sniffed and slightly nodded. Though Nautica wasn’t a NAIL, he still felt vaguely odd trying to comfort someone who wasn’t acclimatized to death as those who had fought in the war. He settled for stiffly patting him on the shoulder.

“Hang on,” Nightbeat called back. Prowl turned to face him while Nautica continued to stare at Tailgate’s offline frame, ignoring the slightly congealed innermost energon that slowly dripped off the beam right in front of his face. ”We’re in the engine rooms, right?”

“Yes,” Nautica called back before Prowl could. At least he wasn’t in shock, to look at the silver lining.

“At the bottom of the ship…” Nightbeat trailed off.

“Yes. Why?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Nightbeat tapered off as if he was considering the section of the floor he was staring at, prompting Prowl and Nautica to walk over. “If we’re in the engine rooms at the bottom of the ship… Where do these stairs go?” Prowl peered down the hatch, and immediately knew where it led.

“Do you want me to ruin this for you or do you want to find out for yourself?” Prowl asked with a smirk on his face. Nightbeat gave him an unimpressed glare in response.

“Let me have this,” he muttered, before brightening and turning to Nautica. “Can I borrow your wrench? I want to use the flashlight.”

“Sure…?” he muttered, handing the aforementioned tool over to Nightbeat uncertainly.

“And off we go!” Nightbeat cheered as he led the small group down the staircase, only for all of them to pause at the bottom in shock.

“Is that…” Nautica trailed off in horror.

“Overlord with his head blown off? Looks like it,” Prowl said with an odd look on his face. “But how is he here? Rodimus told me that he was ejected from the ship and blown up.”

“Now, that’s a mystery to be solved, isn’t it?” Nightbeat asked enthusiastically, cut off by a ringtone emanating from the wrench he was waving around. He pressed a few buttons before answering the call. “Y'ello? Who’s this?”

“Its Skids,” answered a static-y voice. “You guys need to come back _now._ We’re leaving.”

“Don’t you want to know what we’ve found?” Nightbeat said a vaguely whiny tone in his voice as his grin fell off his face. Nautica stood slightly to the side, still looking vaguely horrified at Overlord’s decapitated form.

“Wait,” Skids answered impatiently. “Now _Megatron’s_ trying to get through…” The line buzzed as Skid’s switched his call, leaving them on hold.

“What’s that all about?” Prowl asked after a few moments. The commlink in the wrench suddenly crackled back to life

“Get back here now. The _Lost Light_ was attacked by the DJD.”

* * *

_“You’re always very defensive of your actions,” Rung said as an opener to their session after they had exchanged canned pleasantries. Prowl scowled in response as he settled himself on the couch. “Why do you not trust anybody else to trust that you have the right motives for what you do?” Prowl ‘tch’d._

_“Why would I? They never do.”_

_“Why do you think people don’t trust you?”_

_“Because they never understand that I try to do what’s better for all of us rather than what’s best for them right then at that moment. None of them look at the bigger picture or at the long-term, so idiots always assume that my actions are self-serving,” Prowl said bitterly, a sour look on his face. Rung hummed as he made a note on the datapad he held in front of himself._

_“Has anyone ever defended your actions for you?” Prowl shot him a dry look that told Rung volumes over his opinion of the question._

_“Unless whatever I was advocating for also served their own ends, no.” Rung frowned as Prowl answered._

_“No one has ever done so without ulterior motives?”_

_“If they have, I’m certainly not aware of it.” Rung sighed as he made another note before moving on._

_“Is that why you seem reluctant to trust others?”_

_“I suppose.”_

_“Is there anything more to it than that?”_

_“No.” Rung sighed, before deciding to switch topics, as Prowl was visibly clamming up again. Not the best beginning to their session._

_“You mentioned that you prefer to look at the bigger picture - disregarding the immediate to focus on the long term. Is that correct?”_

_“More or less.”_

_“Do you believe this even if it means that it could be damaging to your interpersonal relations?”_

_“Friends only mean something if we’re not all dead.”_

_“Do you suppose that some of the reason others do not prefer to support you is that you disregard personal relations to such a degree?”_

_“I only disregard them as much as they disregard me.” Rung paused as Prowl said that. That… did not indicate a wealth of healthy relationships. He made a note in the margins as something to explore more in-depth as he continued asking questions._

_“Could you elaborate on that?”_

_“I was mind-controlled by Bombshell, forcibly reformatted, and surgically bonded to a gestalt and nobody I had considered friends even noticed that anything had even changed, or if they did, they didn’t care to check that I was alright. So yes, I disregard them. If I am unable to be important to them, they can continue to be unimportant to me.” Rung paused to look at Prowl for a long moment as he glared at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him. He made a few more notes for subjects to bring up at a later date._

_“Have you tried talking to anybody aboard the_ Lost Light? _Make new friends who would care more for you?” Prowl gave him an incredulous look as he talked._

_“You realize that I used to be everybody’s superior officer, right? Literally, everyone here can blame me for the death of at least one of their own friends, and to my understanding, that’s not a good start.”_

_“Well, maybe you could try acclimating them to you? Whenever we end up on another one of Rodimus’ missions and we get split into groups, try to make conversation with the others. Don’t force yourself in, just try to be… natural about it.” Prowl scoffed at Rung’s advice._

_“You say that as if I need friends. I’ve made it this far without any, I certainly don’t need any now.” Rung sighed as he made another note on his datapad._

_“You can’t be lonely forever, Prowl.”_

* * *

_Five Minutes Later_

“No one panic!” Nautica exclaimed as they burst into back into the room they started in. The Constructicons flocked to surround Prowl worriedly, ignoring the agitated flick of his EM and the stern order to _back off._ “We’re here, we’re here! Though I’m still not _quite_ sure why we had to regroup in such a hurry-”

“It’s a game, Nautica-” Getaway said in a lighthearted voice, though there were the beginnings of stress in the slight static of his vocalizer, “-an old wartime favorite. When someone shouts _DJD_ you have to find your friends and run like hell.”

“So come on then,” Nautica prompted the worried inhabitants of the room, “this ‘DJD’.”

“A free-roaming _kill squad:_ five _professional sadists_ who like nothing more than to hack, stab, and shoot Decepticons who step out of line,” Riptide answered solemnly. Nautica opened his mouth as if to ask what they were worried about when Riptide continued in a similar tone to Getaway. “But hey, don’t worry, because they just _love_ killing Autobots, too.”

“Professional sadists?” Nautica asked confusedly.

“Torturers extraordinaire,” Riptide responded in a false grandiose voice. _“Helex_ forces his victims to eat their own brain. And as for _Tarn…”_ he trailed off in disgust, allowed Skids to pick up where he left off.

“He models himself on Megatron - heck, he’s even got his own _fusion cannon_ \- but unlike his idol he’s got a _morphing addiction_ to feed.” He stepped closer to Nautica as if to emphasize the point he was making. “That’s why he makes his victims _change shape_ before they die: it’s easier to remove a transformation cog if it’s still warm.” He shuddered in horror as he continued talking, and Prowl sympathized as he found his own plating clamping around protoform defensively. “Can you _imagine,_ Nautica? Seriously… can you imagine what is was like when these guys arrived on board?” The majority of the group shuddered. Nautica stood there with a vaguely nauseated look on his face.

“I knew this would happen,” Megatron declared after a pause. “The DJD aren’t loyal to me; they’re loyal to the _Decepticon cause.”_

“Did you literally just miss the part where we discussed that Tarn modeled himself off of you?” Prowl muttered sullenly, glaring at Megatron as he talked.

“You can’t expect me to publicly denounce that cause and for there not to be _consequences.”_

“Are you saying that you asked to be placed on the _Lost Light_ knowing they would come after you?” Prowl hissed dangerously. “You might want to watch what you say, Megatron, because if that’s true, you endangered the crew, and your position is shaky as it is.” Megatron ‘tch’d at him in response, while the Constructicons shuffled awkwardly around him, not eager to get involved.

“Except…” Nightbeat interrupted, a servo on his chin as he contemplated the paradox that Megatron had just presented him with. “No. You’re suggesting that the DJD are acting in response to your defection-” he paused to consider ford a moment as Prowl realized what Nightbeat was trying to get at, “-but Nautica, Prowl and I just found _Overlord_ \- dead - in a cell underneath the ship.” Nautica rubbed the back of his head in confusion.

“I don’t understand the significance.”

“Remember Rewind?” Nightbeat asked.

“The data ghost…”

“He died because Overlord _escaped from his cell._ So how come he was there for the DJD to find?” Prowl coughed slightly and kicked a pede as he looked away. Nightbeat hummed as he thought. “I don’t know, it’s like established events are playing out differently. Like they’re being _re-edited.”_

Suddenly, the _Lost Light_ began to tremble and bright blue bolts of electricity began to shoot up from the floor, and everybody stumbled as they hurriedly attempted to regain their balance.

“What now?!” Ravage cried as whatever perched he had been on collapsed.

“The ship’s reacting to the quantum foam,” Nautica replied.

“Time to _go,”_ Riptide declared as the shakes ended as quickly as they had begun. “I’ve fixed the RodPod.”

“But we haven’t finished looking for survivors…” Nautica said lowly. Megatron made a derisive sound before he responded.

“There are no survivors.”

“How do you know that?” Nautica asked.

“There are no survivors,” he repeated more insistently.

“But how do you _know?”_

“Because I trained the DJD to be thorough,” Megatron said with a note of finality in his voice.

“Hold on,” Ravage said, sniffing the empty Ultra Magnus armor. “Something’s different. I can _smell someone…”_ Megatron lumbered over and knelt down, shifting the empty husk until they could all see a small, single red light emitting from its depths.

“I can _see_ someone…” Megatron said, resting the armor against his knee as he reached into the hole in the side with both hands. “Well, well, well…” Megatron mused as he lifted a small body from the Magnus armor. “It looks like Tarn is getting _sloppy.”_

Prowl felt his vents catch as he realized who Megatron and Ravage had found.

Rewind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I totally cop out on re-writing that scene between Megatron and Ravage by stuffing the Constructicons in a different storage closet? Yes.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl and Rewind get in a bit of a tiff, Nautica ships Prowl and the Constructicons, and in therapy, Rung talks with Prowl some about his relationship with Chromedome.

_“Rewind?!”_ Getaway cried in shock, rushing up to Megatron’s side in concern. “Is he _alive?_ Is he _okay?_ Is he _conscious?_ Happy with any of the above.”

“This is _incredible,”_ Nightbeat stated. Prowl failed to see what was so incredible about the internal crisis he was attempting to stave off, but whatever. “First Overlord, now Rewind… and this _poster_ suggests that-”

“Nightbeat!” Skids snapped, grabbing Prowl’s arm and dragging him along as he approached where Megatron was laying Rewind down. “Take it from a theoretician: now is _not_ the time to start theorizing!”

“Why am I getting taken along?” Prowl asked dryly, making an internal executive decision to deal with everything emotionally later - a breakdown was not conducive to their current situation.

“You used to be an enforcer - you’re probably the only one here who’s had any formal training in dealing with shock victims, and if Rewind’s seen what I think he might have seen, I’ll need your help talking to him.” Prowl snorted in response as they came to stop next to the slab Rewind laid on.

“I can give you several reasons why I’m probably the last person Rewind wants to see right now.”

“You underestimate the healing power of seeing somebody you want to punch, Prowl.”

“Thanks, Skids. Nice to know you care,” Prowl muttered sullenly as they crouched next to an awakening Rewind.

“What’s going on?” he said, static lacing his voice as he slowly sat up and rubbed his head.

“You woke up,” Skids began gently. “You pulled through. Everything else is _detail.”_ Rewind glanced at him dizzily, before his visor dimmed for a second, indicating he was running facial recognition across Skids’ face.

“It’s _Skids,_ isn’t it? We all thought you were dead…” Rewind trailed off as he looked around a bit, before catching sight of Prowl on his other side.

 _“You_ can talk,” Skids teased, not noticing the way Rewind glared at Prowl before continuing on as if he didn’t exist. The silent treatment, then. Rewind suddenly regained his confused look as he continued scanning the room.

“And is that - is that _Nightbeat?_ I know _he_ was dead…”

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that-” Skids started, “-just don’t expect it to make much sense.”

“The _Lost Light_ has a habit of finding mechs thought to be dead, that’s for certain,” Prowl said. Rewind glared at him, and Prowl simply smirked in response. Let him try to ignore his presence. Megatron, who had been observing the proceedings from a distance, lumbered over with a frown on his face.

“We have to go,” he rumbled. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that this entire structure is _unstable.”_

“Just-” Skids paused and flashing two digits at Megatron, “-two seconds. We just wanna make sure he’s okay.” Rewind stared after Megatron for a second before he turned back to Skids and Prowl, making a strangled sounding confused noise. “Oh yeah, _him,”_ Skids started awkwardly. “That’s something else that happened.”

“But he’s an _Autobot!”_

“Yes, well, in name at least.”

“There’s a long story behind that as well, someone can explain it to you later,” Prowl remarked. “Just be aware that very few are actually happy with the decision.” Skids hummed his agreement as Rewind stayed silent.

“Apart from Nightbeat not being dead and Megatron not being a Decepticon, it’s business as usual,” Skids summarized with a grin on his face.

“And the ‘bot with Nightbeat, who’s he?”

“That’s _Nautica_ and…” Skids paused, “she’s a she.” Prowl blinked at the reveal of the information. Interesting, good to know. “Apart from Nightbeat not being dead and Megatron not being a Decepticon and Nautica not being a he, it’s business as usual.”

“Skids, I feel like the world could be imploding and if I asked what was happening you would just tell me ‘other than that giant black hole sucking everyone into an endless abyss, it’s business as usual’,” Prowl said blandly. Nightbeat hustled over and burst into the conversation before Skids had a chance to retort.

“Rewind!” he exclaimed. “What _happened_ to you? And the others, what happened to them? What happened to the _ship?”_

“Oh Primus,” Prowl mumbled as Nightbeat rattled off his questions one after another. There was no point attempting to treat someone for shock when Nightbeat came along. Why did he even bother trying? Rewind whimpered lowly, covering his face with his hands.

“Oh, hey,” Nightbeat said soothingly, “I know this is tough… but it’s important too.” Skids sharply elbowed him as Prowl groaned.

“Important but not urgent, he’s in no fit state to handle an _interrogation,”_ Skids hissed. Rewind, still hiding away behind one hand, lifted his other one and his wrist flipped, ejecting an object for Nightbeat to take.

“A _data slug…?”_ he asked, taking the aforementioned item, seeming to not notice the small camera bot whimpering. Primus, if Rewind hadn’t been in shock before, he definitely was _now._

“Megatron! Captain! _Everybody!”_ Nautica suddenly exclaimed, whipping around from where she had just been talking to Riptide. “I’ve worked it out! _All_ of it! Why our ship disappeared, where _this_ ship came from - _everything!”_ Everybody immediately turned around to look at Nautica’s excited expression.

“The floor is yours,” Megatron said an intrigued look on his face.

“Impress us,” Nightbeat told her. And now everybody was focussed on Nautica. Which made the in shock Rewind Prowl’s problem. Fantastic.

Prowl gave a dismissive flick of his doorwings to the Constructicons as he sat down in front of Rewind, giving them a sharp jab through the bond, ordering them to pay attention to Nautica, not him. It was almost cute how they thought he wouldn’t notice them slowly sneaking up around him. They responded with a sad prod before leaving him alone.

“Rewind?” he began, attempting to gain the smaller mech’s attention. “Rewind, I need you to look at me.” It took a few seconds, but Rewind eventually parted his fingers enough to give Prowl a bitter glare. Not ideal, but he was processing outside events at least.

“Describe what you can see,” Prowl prompted, deciding to at least _attempt_ to be nice about it.

“An aft,” Rewind snarked. Alright, well if _that’s_ how it was going to be.

“Can you feel your frame?” he continued through gritted teeth.

“I can feel my frame getting ready to punch a glitch if _doesn’t stop talking to me.”_

Prowl ‘tch’d before holding his hands up disarmingly. If Rewind didn’t want the help he had so generously offered, then he wasn’t going to get it. He flicked his doorwings agitatedly, standing up and moving away from the smaller mech, deciding the trouble wasn’t worth the effort.

* * *

_“You’re friends with Chromedome, correct?” Rung asked. Prowl scoffed, cushioning his head with his arms._

_“He’s made it extremely clear that that’s no longer the case in any regard.”_

_“How so?” Rung inquired, crossing his legs as he settled back in his chair, stylus at the ready._

_“He threw me off a cliff,” Prowl responded shortly, making a shrugging gesture with his doorwings._

_“He…”_

_“Threw me off a cliff, yes. Is that so hard to understand?” Prowl snapped at him._

_“Why did he… throw you off a cliff?”_

_“I implied that him nonconsensually erasing a memory of mine was equivalent to his recent loss of Rewind.” Rung paused for a second to consider Prowl’s blunt statement. There was… quite a bit to unpack from that._

_“He performed mnemosurgey on you?”_

_“Yes.”_

_"Nonconsensually?"_

_"Yes."_

_“To erase a memory?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And then you referenced his recent loss of Rewind.”_

_“Is what I said, yes.” Rung sighed and ran a hand down his face. Some days, talking to Prowl was almost as frustrating as talking to Whirl._

_“And then he threw you off a cliff.” Prowl gave him a dry look as if to tell him to stop repeating everything he said. Rung simply wrote the entire statement down on his datapad, as there was really no way to condense what Prowl had just stated._

_“When do you believe that Chromedome performed mnemosurgery on you?”_

_“Just before the_ Lost Light _left the first time.”_

_“And do you know the reason he erased this memory?”_

_“I was attempting to use it to convince him to perform mnemosurgy on Overlord.”_

_“Were you attempting to convince him or were you attempting to blackmail him?” Rung asked skeptically. Prowl chuckled darkly in response._

_“I see my reputation precedes me. Blackmail, probably. It’s quicker and more effective in most cases.”_

_“Why were you attempting to get him to perform mnemosurgery on Overlord?” he continued, having forgotten for a brief moment that most of the_ Lost Light’s _problems over the last two years could be traced back in some way to Prowl._

_“Wanted to find out what made Phase-Sixers work, how to make them. I needed to know how we could make our own, and Overlord was the only Phase-Sixer we had.” Rung removed his glasses for a second and rubbed the ridge between his optics tiredly before replacing them._

_“Moving on from that,” Rung began, deciding that was a topic for a whole other session, “why did you decide the best thing you could have done in that moment was reference Rewind?”_

_“Because I wanted a comparison to show Chromedome, by use of comparison, how much his actions cost me.”_

_“In what way did they affect you?” Prowl shrugged, a vaguely uncomfortable look crossing his face._

_“He had to perform the alterations quickly, so he didn’t have enough time to do it right. Left a weakness in my brain module. Bombshell exploited that to easily take over my mind and here I am,” Prowl said bitterly, gesturing down at his body. “Reformatted against my will and bonded into a gestalt that I don’t want. Nobody trusted me back on Cybertron anymore, even when it was shown that I was under mind-control. Cost me everything I had, and now I’m in therapy sessions with you.” Prowl gave him a self-deprecating smirk. “Quite a nosedive, isn’t it?” Rung made a noncommittal noise in response._

* * *

“You’re saying this _Lost Light_ is a _duplicate?”_ Getaway asked Nautica, sounding disbelieving as he crossed his arms. Prowl would’ve pinged the Constructicons for the explanation again, but after the disorientation that came with it that last time he did that, he decided otherwise.

“No, it’s the original,” Nautica answered.

“So _ours_ was the duplicate?”

“No, ours was the original as well.” Prowl decided that not asking what happened was the correct decision to have made - he already felt like he was getting flashbacks to Nautica’s confusing lessons on quantum mechanics she had hosted in the RodPod earlier.

“Fine, I’ll pretend I get it,” Getaway said snippily.

“I _do_ get it,” Nightbeat countered, ejecting the data slug from the info port in his helm. “I’ve just _watched_ it - in a manner of speaking. Rewind made a _travelogue_ \- and it backs up everything Nautica just said. From _our_ perspective, the _Lost Light’s_ first quantum jump took it to a random planet - and that’s when Skids showed up,” he said, throwing an arm around the aforementioned bot’s shoulders.

“I remember it well. Kind of,” Skids remarked blandly.

“But from _Rewind’s_ perspective, the _Lost Light_ jumped to an entirely different region of space… the _right_ region, going by the _Matrix map._ In both cases - on both _Lost Lights_ \- the explosion released a _sparkeater_ \- but that’s where the commonalities end.” Prowl shifted his weight on his pedes, settling down to hear what sounded like a long story. Nightbeat started walking as he talked.

“On _Rewind’s Lost Light,_ Rung is lost in the explosion and it’s _Animus_ who lures the sparkeater to the engine rooms. Rodimus traps the creature in the engine casing, but his timing’s off and part of his _own_ head ends up in there too. Drift insists on a _Spectralist funeral._ Rodimus is placed in a coffin made from the engine casing and interred. The coffin must’ve fallen out the ship when it started to break up,” Nightbeat added under his breath, looking excited that all the pieces of the mystery were coming together.

“Ultra Magnus takes charge and puts a stop to Rewind’s travelogue - but not before _Drift,_ who says he no longer feels beholden to Rodimus, comes clean about _Overlord_ being locked up below decks. Magnus tells the crew…” Nightbeat trailed off, coming to a stop in his pacing right behind where Rewind was staring blankly at the floor. “...And that’s as far as the story goes. I don’t know what happened next.”

“I’ll give you three guesses-” Rewind offered dryly, “-one for each letter.”

“The _DJD,”_ Nightbeat muttered darkly. Rewind silently nodded, before pushing himself off the slab he had been resting on. He brought a hand up to the recorder/projector on the side of his head as he began to talk.

“Someone on board led them to our front door - on purpose. We never had time to find out _who,_ or _why,_ but yeah - seems someone shut down the slow cell and uncloaked Overlord’s spark signature.” Rewind’s projector booted up at last, with a soft _klik_ noise. Horrific scenes of the DJD torturing the crew of the _Lost Light_ suddenly appeared. Hardened as Prowl was after millennia of war, he still felt his tanks churn as the clips played out.

“Tarn took great pleasure in telling us this before he attacked. They killed Overlord, of course - but they didn’t stop there, why would they? They were enjoying themselves.” Silence reigned for a few seconds before Nightbeat interrupted it.

“So…” he started awkwardly. “Everyone died except you?”

“If you’re suggesting _I’m_ the one who betrayed the crew…” Rewind began darkly as he shut down his projector with another _klik._ Nightbeat held up his hands to wave away the accusation as he frantically denied it.

“No! God, no. Not at all.” Rewind looked down, shadows crossing his face as his visor dimmed depressingly.

“They wanted a souvenir…” he whispered.

“I don’t know how they _knew_ \- maybe I cried out his name - but they said they’d let _Chromedome_ live if I filmed everything they did. But then, when they’d finished killing the rest of the crew, they had a better idea…” Rewind’s vents stuttered as he continued talking. Prowl had a horrifying feeling he knew where the story was going - the DJD were not known for making deals for survival.

“They knew Chromedome was mnemosurgeon. They told him they’d only spare him if he _erased_ me from his memory. He refused. I _begged_ him. But he refused so _Vos_ snapped off his _finger needles_ and…” Rewind made few empty movements while he tried to get the words out, vocalizer clicking as he reset it a few times in an attempt to force the information out, before making a vague gesture to the side. Their optics all directed to where Chromedome lay broken on the ground, battered, beaten, and scratched - needles sticking out of his shattered visor.

Prowl felt sick.

“I ran the second he stopped screaming. I ran and-” Rewind paused to reset his vocalizer again, vents hitching and making a stuttered noise, “-and I hid in the _Magnus armor._ I must’ve passed out.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but… Nautica?” Everyone turned to look at Riptide, wondering what must be so important to disturb the moment. Prowl, on the flip side, was happy for the distraction. “Your _silly string…”_ he began, pointing out the destroyed wall.

“You mean the highly explosive _quantum foam?”_ she corrected as she walked over to whatever it was that Riptide was pointing at.

“Yeah, the webby stuff… It’s spreading _everywhere.”_

“Ooh, that's not a good thing,” Nautica muttered, clenching her hands together worriedly as she turned around to face the others. “This whole sector’s been _thinned out_ by _excessive hyperspatial_ activity. If the foam reaches a major weak spot, the chain reaction could rip that planet to shreds.” Riptide’s face grew more and more alarmed the more Nautica kept talking, though Prowl was fairly certain that he had no idea what she was saying.

“That’s an _A-level planet_ \- which means it might be populated,” Skids said worriedly. Prowl shook his head before he interrupted.

“It’s a former Lectureworld,” he added, looking out the viewport/place where a wall used to be at the planet below them. “Even if attendance has declined since it’s annexation by Curricula, there’s at the very least enough staff down there to run the whole planet. There are _definitely_ people down there,” Prowl corrected. Skids clenched his fists determinedly as he finished speaking.

“Which means we have to _act.”_

“The quantum drums are remote linked to the quantum engines,” Nautica mused, holding her hands to her face as she thought. “Deactivating the drums _should_ shut down the engines, which _should_ get rid of the foam.”

“Can we turn those ‘should’ into ‘wills’?” Skids asked. Nautica thought for a moment before she answered.

“If my _two ships_ theory is sound, then the other _Lost Light_ is being held in a kind of _cosmic abeyance_ \- like the universe has yet to fully commit to its non-existence. We can exploit that. If we shut down the engines _completely_ for the first time since takeoff, anything linked to or produced by the engines should get _canceled out.”_

“Except the drums are already surrounded by killer foam,” Ravage piped up, startling some of the assembled mechs. The beastformer had been rather quiet, allowing them to forget he was even there. He held up a single, sharpened claw as if to prove his point rather than remind them all of the knives that made up his paws. “We’d have to fly the RodPod through a _web of death._ If we leave now and head _away_ from this mess we can outrun any explosion - even a planetary one.”

“No. We _fix this,”_ Skids asserted, crossing his arms. “Lives are at risk.”

Prowl was almost getting nostalgic for many similar arguments he had with Optimus once upon a time.

“If that planet was teeming with _Cybertronians,_ then yes, there’d be an argument for going back into the breach, but I doubt that’s the case,” Megatron said, straightening his back, looking ready for an argument - or a fight, Prowl wouldn’t put it past him.

“Ah, your _true colors,”_ Skids remarked sarcastically. “I’d forgotten how purple they were.”

“You’ve forgotten something else: I am your prisoner.” Prowl snorted, but no one paid attention to him. “I’ve been granted _conditional bail_ while we look for the Knights of Cybertron. Where in my bail terms does it say - where _precisely_ does it say - that I have to risk my life to save a handful of strangers. Where does it say _that?”_

Skids plating flared out aggressively as he sharply jabbed Megatron’s chest, right over the softly glowing Autobot badge that adorned it.

“Right. There.” Skids lifted his hand to point accusingly at Megatron as he continued. “What does that badge even _mean_ to you? How has wearing it forced you to _modify_ your behavior? I’m serious!” Skids cried. “How had being an Autobot _in any way_ prevented you from doing _exactly_ what you want?” He paused to vent for a second before he continued on his tirade. “Because if the answer is _‘it hasn't’_ \- then nothing you’ve said or done in the last six months counts for _anything.”_

Prowl probably would’ve attempted to start a round of applause for Skids if Nautica hadn’t suddenly reminded them of the oncoming disaster.

“I spoke too soon,” she interrupted, holding her wrench up to her optics as a sort of - binoculars? Brainstorm had really gone all the way for her. “The foam around the drums is too tightly meshed. Not even the RodPod could squeeze through.” Rewind tapped her on the arm to gain her attention.

“Maybe not… But I could,” he paused for emphasis. “I’m _tiny.”_

“Oh, Rewind, that’s-” Nautica sounded surprised and touched for a second before kneeling down to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I admire that, but - it’s a job for _two._ The drums need to be deactivated _simultaneously.”_ She laid her other on hand on Ravage’s head, patting him - seemingly not remembering his reaction to her earlier. “And before you volunteer, Ravage, I’m sorry, but you lack the manual dexterity to perform the task.”

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you,” the felinoid responded, an agitated look on his face.

“In that case,” Getaway said, breaking back into the conversation, “unless anyone here is gonna do a _Minimus Ambus,_ it looks like-”

“That’s it!” Skids proclaimed, interrupting Getaway with an excited look on his face. “Getaway, you’re a _genius!”_

“Thank you!” he chirped in response. “Why am I a genius?”

“Just follow me…” Skids said, running off down a corridor, and everybody hurried to follow him. 

Prowl started to follow as well, until Nautica blocked him off, stopping him. He felt a tap against his doorwing as somebody else behind him stopped, and turned his head slightly to see that the Constructicons had once again crowded around him.

“Here,” Nautica said brightly, shoving her wrench into Prowl’s startled hands, causing him to fumble with it for a second. “Why don’t you and the Constructicons stay here and keep an eye on the quantum foam for us? Thanks!” she called over her shoulder as she hurried after the others.

“Wha- Nautica! _Nautica!”_ Prowl shouted after her, looking slightly lost and stunned at the turn of events.

“You’ll thank me eventually!” she cried back as she turned a corner.

Prowl stood there in silence for a few seconds, listening to the Constructicons shuffle their pedes awkwardly behind him as he processed what had just happened.

He slowly turned around, almost denting the wrench in his crushing grip as he glared at the Constructicons.

Great.

* * *

“Prowl?”

_Poke._

“Prowl?”

_Poke._

“Prowl?”

_Poke._

“Prowl?”

_Poke._

“Pr-”

 _“What is it?”_ he snapped at the Constructicons, who had been bothering him in such a fashion for the better part of the last ten minutes. Bonecrusher and Mixmaster smirked as he finally acknowledged them, while Long Haul and Scavenger flinched back from the harsh tone.

After a second, they looked at each other for a second, as if they had forgotten why they were trying to talk to him in the first place. Scavenger suddenly brightened as he remembered whatever it was they wanted to ask him.

“Why don’t you talk to us?”

With all the tact of Nightbeat, as well. Charming.

“Why are _you_ so insistent on talking to me?” he countered, still refusing to look directly at them, preferring to observe them from the corners of his vision.

“You’re gestalt,” Mixmaster said as if explained everything - which for their simpleton minds, it _might,_ but it was nowhere near enough for Prowl.

“That means nothing to me,” he responded shortly, flicking his doorwings in an annoyed gesture to get them to back off. They didn’t. Seemed that _some_ people were getting a bit too bold, he thought agitatedly.

“We’re _one._ We need you, Prowl,” Long Haul whined, pawing at his arm. Prowl shifted to the right, forcing Long Haul off his person.

“Well,” Prowl started tersely, “I _don’t_ so stop it.” Long Haul poked the thinner plating on his abdomen, causing him to jerk sharply. “I said _stop,”_ he hissed.

“C’mon, Prowl,” Bonecrusher complained, draping himself across the cop bots back, forcing Prowl to abandon his stiff and stern position in favor of trying to not get crushed by the larger mech. “We’ve been in your head, you’ve been in ours. We gotta be together, it’s what gestalts _do.”_

“And when did I ever ask for this gestalt full of _idiots?”_

“You didn’t-” Mixmaster started.

“-but you’re stuck with us now,” Scavenger amended before Mixmaster could say anything too stupid. “We just gotta try and make it work.”

“I still don’t get why you’re all so _happy_ about it,” Prowl snapped, turning to glare at them.

“Like Bonecrusher said,” Long Haul told him from where he had started tracing patterns on Prowl’s clamped plating (the gesture was far too _intimate_ for him to be comfortable), “we’ve been inside your head-” yes, people seemed to be doing that quite a bit, whether Prowl liked it or not, “-and we like the way you think. You make _sense.”_

“Oh, and it’s not for my, what was it?” Prowl started ominously, pulling his EM field even tighter around himself defensively as he pretended to think. “Oh, yes, it’s not just because you're after my ‘sweet aft’ and ‘pretty wings’, is it?”

Bonecrusher choked.

“I- we- um-” Scavenger stammered, sharing a panicked glance with the other Constructicons, who looked similarly thrown. Prowl gave them all an extremely unamused stare.

“You heard that?” Long Haul asked weakly.

“Just because I hate you all, doesn’t mean I’m _deaf,”_ Prowl stated blandly, before shoving Bonecrusher off his back and whacking Long Haul’s arm, turning around to face them as he took a few steps away.

“Well, you’re pretty fraggin’ hot, that’s definitely part of it,” Bonecrusher interjected, giving him a thumbs up and a wink (well, whatever counted as a wink with a visor). Prowl’s EM field gave a disgusted flare that barely brushed theirs before he quickly pulled it back.

“So you want a frag buddy out of me then?” Prowl asked lowly. “Is _that_ what you want out of this gestalt? Because I can guarantee that it’s never going to-”

“Prowl-” Mixmaster started before he was silenced by a sharp look from Prowl that screamed _do NOT interrupt me._

“-happen,” he finished flatly, having sounded less and less impressed with them as the minutes ticked by. The Constructicons looked at each other, and if the panicked waves that washed across Prowl’s spark were any indication, were frantically trying to figure out how to pull themselves out of the hole they had dug themselves into.

“I didn't mean it like that,” Bonecrusher said. Prowl gave him a disbelieving look, as it was quite a stretch to interpret it any other way.

“Then _how_ did you mean it?” Prowl asked, looking annoyed as they hesitated in answering him.

“Prowl, could you please give us a chance to prove-” Mixmaster was cut off as the rest of the group suddenly burst into the room, with conflicting looks on each of their faces.

“Everyone onto the shuttle,” Megatron called, effectively cutting off the conversation.

“Mind telling me what _that_ was about?” Prowl asked grumpily as he fell into step with Nautica, eager to remove himself from the Constructicons. She shrugged.

“I just thought that you guys could use a chance to talk things out. Although,” she said, looking behind them at the dejected posture of the rest of the gestalt, “it doesn’t look like it helped much.”

“You have no place to interfere,” Prowl hissed, glaring at her.

“Well, I noticed that looked upset whenever you ignore them, so I thought I could give them an opportunity to talk to you,” she said defensively. “Excuse me for trying.” Prowl sighed, his plating loosening from its protective clamp around his frame as he felt his agitation drain away, leaving behind nothing but a powerful sense of exhaustion.

“It’s not like it could get any worse,” he grumbled as Nautica settled herself at the communications station, Riptide slowly guiding the RodPod back out of Swerve’s/their make-shift landing bay. She gave him an odd look and opened her mouth to ask him what meant by it, but he silenced her with a tired gesture as Skids stopped on Nautica’s other side.

“So what happened and why are we leaving in such a hurry? The abridged version, please,” Prowl asked, moving the conversation along from the awkward topic.

“Went down to Braintstorm’s lab looking for a shrink ray, couldn’t find it, turns out he’s a Decepticon, Megatron revealed he has mass shift technology still installed, so he’s going with Rewind to shut down the quantum drums.” Prowl blinked at Skids’ rapid-fire explanation. He decided to take it one question at a time.

“Why did you think Brainstorm would have a shrink ray?” Skids shrugged nonchalantly.

“Long story - ‘s pretty funny, remind me to tell you later,” he answered as they watched Rewind and Megatron depart the shuttle.

“Decepticon?”

“I mean, we found his face mask and it turns out that it had a Decepticon badge painted on the back. Might’ve been a plant, but the DJD doesn't really have reason to do something like that, so we made some assumptions.” Prowl groaned tiredly, massaging the ridge between his optics.

“And Megatron just suddenly remembered that he was modified for mass displacement technology?”

“No, he said that since we were all lining up to make sacrifices, he decided to wait until we were out of other options before offering himself up.”

Prowl hummed. “Sensible, but inconvenient.” Skids made no response as they watched Rewind and Megatron slip through the quantum foam from a distance. The comm in front of Nautica crackled to life as they floated in front of the quantum drums.

“Nautica?” Rewind’s voice filtered through. Prowl fought to not frown. “We made it through.”

“We saw,” Nautica answered simply.

“She means ‘well done,’” Skids interjected, leaning over her to speak into the microphone instead.

“Yes!” she amended quickly. “Yes, I meant to say: good work. Really… really _top-notch.”_ Prowl snorted at her awkward praise.

“So… what now?” A holographic magnifying HUD appeared in front of Nautica’s face, in place of where her visor had been earlier.

“At the center of each drum is a _removable disc,”_ she began to answer, already moving her hands as she began to demonstrate what they’d need to do, despite the fact that they couldn’t see her. “Underneath you’ll find a series of switches, work left to right, but don’t touch the _last one_ yet. You both need to press that one at exactly the same time.” There was a pause as Rewind and Megatron began working on each of their respective drums.

“Nautica? You said if we do this, the foam will be _canceled out…”_

“Correct!” she cheered. “No drums, no engines, no foam.”

“Right,” he answered quietly. “So won’t the _Lost Light_ \- _My Lost Light_ \- won’t that be canceled out too? The _Lost Light_ and everyone on it - including me?” There was a stiff moment of silence as the three of them looked at each other, not having thought of that fact. “Nautica? Have I got that wrong?” She took a stuttered vent before she answered quietly.

“No, I think-” Nautica paused as the situation processed. “I think you’re right. And what’s more… I think our _Lost Light_ might be reinstated. Crew and all.” Her vents hitched as she continued. “I’m _sorry._ There’s no way the two ships can _co-exist._ Even if one crew were dead and the other were alive…” she trailed off slowly. Megatron’s voice crackled to life over the comms to fill the void the silence had created.

“Rewind - do you want to turn back?”

“No,” he responded simply. “No, I’m actually kinda happy to be canceled out. What’s left for me here? Chromedome’s dead - which is just another way of saying _I_ am.” Prowl wanted to curl in on himself as he listened to Rewind talk - it was easy to forget how happy those two had made each other when Prowl was so busy being caught up in how Chromedome had left him all those millennia ago.

“In fact I wanted to ask earlier but…” Rewind paused as he considered his question. “On your _Lost Light,_ me and Domey… Are we still going strong?” There was a beat of silence as all the mechs on the shuttle looked at each other frantically, unsure of the best way to answer the question. “Megatron?” Rewind prompted, deciding to ask the person with the least reason to lie to him about it. There was another pause, all those aboard the RodPod holding their breath to hear Megatron’s answer.

“You’re inseparable.”

“Come on, then,” Rewind chirped after a moment, voice sounding slightly choked. “Let’s not drag out the goodbyes. On the count of three… two… one…”

Everything whited out.

* * *

“Just as Nautica predicted, everything’s changing back to the way it was…” Nightbeat trailed off in the middle of his explanation of Nautica’s explanation, talking to a mildly confused Ratchet. “... Well, the way it was a few hours ago.”

“Mind telling me what happened?” Ratchet asked tiredly, tone suggesting that Nightbeat give him the simpler story.

“Short version?” Nightbeat asked. “You disappeared and then came back - all in one piece,” he said, gesturing to Ratchet’s hands - which had reattached themselves to his reappeared body.

“What about the others? Hound, Highbrow…” Ratchet asked, rubbing the back of his neck as he rolled his head to get rid of the cricks that had formed in the… what had Nautica called it? _Cosmic abeyance,_ that was it.

“Incoming people are returning in _reverse order:_ the last to go are the first to come back,” Night told him.

“Don’t question it too much,” Prowl advised.

A scant few feet away, Chromedome suddenly started rematerializing.

“Ah,” Skids remarked. “There’s Chromedome now…"

“What do we tell him?” Nightbeat asked.

“Prowl.” Prowl jerked as Skids addressed him, throwing him a confused glance as a pair of magna clamps were shoved into his hands. “You two were buddies before the war, right? Why don’t you tell him?

“I-” was Prowl was able to get out before he was pushed into Chromedome’s direction, stumbling into the taller ‘bot. Chromedome quickly steadied him, though the distasteful feel of his EM field suggested it was more out of habit than any actual desire to help him.

“Hi,” Chromedome said dryly, not looking like he wanted to talk to Prowl anymore than Prowl wanted to talk to Chromedome.

“Hi,” Prowl repeated awkwardly, internally scrambling as he tried to figure out _what_ Skids wanted Prowl to do. He held the magna clamps in Chromedome’s direction, deciding to be as direct as possible about it. “Take these and go outside.”

“What, no explanation as to what just happened? Prowl, you wound me,” Chromedome responded, stiffly taking the magna clamps from him. “If this is a plan to finally murder me, you’re not carrying it out very well.”

“If I was going to kill you, I’d make somebody else do it for me,” Prowl said before he could stop himself. “There are far too many witnesses right now.” Chromedome let out a harsh bark of laughter in answer, rudely using Prowl to steady himself as he attached the magna clamps to his pedes.

“I’m not saying I’d complain if you did try to kill me - not much to live for at this point.”

 _“No. No, I’m actually kinda happy to be canceled out. What’s left for me here? Chromedome’s dead - which is just another way of saying_ I _am.”_

Prowl winced as Rewind’s words flashed through his head.

“Just go outside,” he said roughly, pulling down the ladder to the ceiling hatch. “There’s somebody out there who you’ll probably be much happier to see than me.” Chromedome threw him one last confused look before he ascended the ladder, pushing the door open.

Prowl turned away and melded back into the crowd before he could stop and stare at Chromedome’s reaction.

They made each other happy - happier than he and Chromedome had been when they were together.

* * *

_The Next Day_

“I’ll go drop these off with Rodimus, then,” Prowl said, standing up with an armful of datapads. Ultra Magnus nodded absently, already working on the next load of work.

Prowl had almost reached the door when the gestalt bond - that he had ignored as much as possible since his confrontation with the Constructicons the day before - went _dead._

Prowl hadn’t noticed how much he still felt from the Constructicons until he noticed the absolute lack of _anything_ washing over his spark. The change was so sudden that he stumbled, tripping over his own pedes, dropping the datapads he had been carrying as he caught himself dazedly on the ground.

“Prowl?” Ultra Magnus’ voice asked concernedly from behind him.

Prowl almost didn’t register it - he was too busy trying to figure out why the Constructicons had just passed out _simultaneously._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i make nautica the whirl of this ship? yes.
> 
> But anyway, that's the end of the Lost Light 2 arc! I hope you're all enjoying this so far!
> 
> A quick note - Rewind probably came off as more than a little aggressive towards Prowl in this chapter, but I'm really basing it off the fact that he just went through a (highly) traumatic event, and that he probably doesn't want to see Prowl in the first place.
> 
> As for the overall tension between CDRW and Prowl, this is probably as upfront as it's ever going to get. I'm trying to decide if I want to attempt to resolve it - I have an idea as to how to do it, except it's a bit of a cop-out so I'm not sure if I just want to leave the tension between them there forever or not.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung and Prowl play chess, Brainstorm chases his crush through time, while in the present Hook follows his crush across the Lost Light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this out yesterday but I procrastinated on this chapter, because I just wasn't really feeling it.

“Why did you let me join?” Prowl asked, bluntly breaking the silence that normally settled in Ultra Magnus’ office. Magnus startled, looking up sharply to stare at Prowl.

“Can you clarify your question?” Prowl sighed and set down the datapad he had been working on, turning in his seat to look more directly at the SIC.

“Why did you let me join the _Lost Light?_ You had strongly implied that you didn’t like me beforehand, and it was probably in your best interests to not let me board. So why?” Prowl elaborated. Magnus paused as he considered his answer.

“Because I decided to give you a second chance. Rodimus told me that I should attempt to place more faith in people, so I allowed you to board.” Prowl hummed as he turned back to the files he was reviewing.

“There are probably mechs much easier to work with than me that you could’ve given your faith to.”

“Perhaps.” They continued to work in silence for a moment before Prowl decided to move on from stiff and awkward exchange.

“I’ll go drop these off with Rodimus, then,” Prowl said, standing up with an armful of datapads. Ultra Magnus nodded absently, already working on the next load of work.

Prowl had almost reached the door when the gestalt bond - that he had ignored as much as possible since his confrontation with the Constructicons the day before - went _dead._

Prowl hadn’t noticed how much he still felt from the Constructicons until he noticed the absolute lack of _anything_ washing over his spark. The change was so sudden that he stumbled, tripping over his own pedes, dropping the datapads he had been carrying as he caught himself dazedly on the ground.

“Prowl?” Ultra Magnus’ voice asked concernedly from behind him.

Prowl almost didn’t register it - he was too busy trying to figure out why the Constructicons had just passed out _simultaneously._

“Prowl?” Ultra Magnus repeated, much closer. A large hand was suddenly on his shoulder, jolting Prowl out of his head and back into reality.

“Gestalt - Constructicons - some - something happened,” he answered breathlessly, spark pulsing rapidly as it attempted to recover from the shock of the sudden lack of stimulation. Where had the Constructicons been? “Swerve’s,” Prowl said as he shakily clambered to his feet. “Something happened at Swerve’s. All of them - passed out.”

“Are you confident that they didn’t simply become overcharged?” Magnus asked although he was already opening the door to his office, ready to arrest a ne’er-do-gooder.

“With all due respect, mechs don’t pass out _simultaneously_ when overcharged,” he sniped in response, clamping down on his plating to hide the small tremors running through his struts as he trailed one step behind Ultra Magnus dutifully. Magnus hummed.

“Those at Swerve’s have probably broken a few regulations by this point anyhow - check the security, tell me what’s happening down there,” he commanded. Prowl nodded, despite knowing that Ultra Magnus wouldn’t see it, and began to remotely access the security feed after fetching another datapad from his subspace - he had been trusted with a few of the command codes in becoming Magnus’ assistant - probably part of the whole ‘faith’ thing he had been talking about.

His clipped pace stuttered as the feed came up.

“You might want to see this for yourself,” Prowl told him, lightly jogging for a second to catch up with Magnus’ broad strides. “Look,” he said, holding the datapad out for him.

_“Brainstorm,”_ Magnus hissed ominously. He promptly transformed into his alt mode and roared down the hallway, pouring on the speed to get to Swerve’s before the aforementioned mech could escape.

“Ultra Magnus!” Prowl cried after him, promptly folding into his own alt. Despite being a police cruiser, he was still unable to catch up with the SIC - the large mech was surprisingly nimble and quick in his alt for such a lumbering bot.

**_“BRAINSTORM!”_ ** Ultra Magnus roared as he barrelled into Swerve’s - but the scientist seemed to have been prepared for the eventuality of Ultra Magnus bursting in.

Some sort of red, crackling beam hit Magnus - and he _shattered._

Prowl’s tires screeched, and he almost flipped onto his roof as he ground to a halt to avoid being bombarded by the remains of the Magnus armor fell to the floor.

“Magnus?” he called worriedly as Brainstorm threw the gun aside and flipped to his jet form, blasting off down the hallway.

“Go!” Magnus - Minimus? - shouted from underneath the heavy pieces of the Magnus armor.

Prowl gunned his engine - Magnus would probably scold him over the skid marks he left on the floor later, but it wasn’t the important thing right at that moment.

His engine screamed and his wheels burned as he turned tightly around the corridors of the _Lost Light._ Brainstorm was a flyer, and as such, was much faster than Prowl, but had to slow down significantly each time he had to turn to ensure he didn’t crash into any of the walls - giving Prowl a chance to catch up, but it was never enough.

Brainstorm reverted back, landing nimbly on his pedes, racing the last few steps into his workshop. Prowl transformed after him - but it was too late.

Brainstorm leapt athletically into a circle of - briefcases? - and tapped a button on the case still attached to his wrist and, in a flash of white light was - gone?

Prowl shuttered his optics, burning as they were from the unexpected brightness. He rebooted them - yep, still gone. Processing what had just happened for a few moments, listening to his plating ping and cooling fans roar as his fuel pump stopped beating so rapidly with the thrill of the chase - he slowly held a hand up, activating his comm.

“Magnus? Brainstorm’s gone.”

* * *

After comming Rodimus and Perceptor, and helping Minimus back into the Magnus armor, Prowl was left at Swerve’s to see if anybody was still online - someone who could give them an account of what happened.

Looking out at the sea of unconscious mechs, mentally estimating how much time it would take to check each frame, he decided to go about the task the easier and quicker way.

“Anybody up?!” Prowl shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to help his voice carry. There was a pause, and then -

_“Er_ \- help?” emanated from deep within the bar. Prowl scanned the room, spotting a small orange hand peeking out from beneath the bodies of several other ‘bots, waving helplessly. Rung was still online, then.

Picking his way across the room, he quickly reached the slight psychiatrist and grabbed the servo sticking out of the pile of mechs and yanked. Rung flew free from his temporary prison with a yelp, the ‘bots in the pile not even twitching as their bodies were ruthlessly shoved out of the way.

“I don’t think my joints are meant to be pulled on like this,” Rung groaned as he stumbled to a stop after the sudden acceleration. Prowl hummed in response.

“Did you see what happened here?” he asked. Rung shook his head.

“I wasn’t looking when everybody went down. One moment everything was fine, and the next-” he gestured at the frames littering the room, “-everybody passed out.”

“That means we don’t know what Brainstorm did,” Prowl muttered, “or how to reverse it, and with all of our medics passed out we can’t-”

“Hook should still be up, though,” Rung said confusedly. Prowl’s head snapped to him.

“But the bond’s dead, and unless his emotions just got Shockwave’d, he’s out like the rest of them.” Rung shook his head.

“No, I mean he should be in the medbay - Ratchet mentioned that he was having Hook finish up some inventory before he came down for the party.” Prowl paused at that.

After a moment’s consideration, he shut his optics and focused on the gestalt bond - tenderly prodding it, trying to figure out which of the sparks connected to his was Hook’s. After a few seconds, he simply pulsed a demand of _WAKE UP_ through the bond. A startled pulse resonated back, one of the sparks stuttering awake.

_:: Whaizzit? Whazzgoinon? ::_

_:: Where are you? ::_ Prowl snapped impatiently.

_:: Medbay - why? What’s happening? ::_ Hook asked, quickly regaining his senses.

_:: Get to Swerve’s. Make sure you bring diagnostic equipment - ensure you bring something to check for contaminants in energon. ::_ Prowl tightened the bond back down before Hook could respond, opening his optics.

“He’s still there, should be on his way now,” he said. He looked down at Rung, only to notice the smaller mech looking at him intently with an odd smile on his face. “What?”

“Nothing,” he responded, shaking his head before looking away.

They began picking their way back across the room, though after the third time Rung tripped on a larger frame, Prowl simply picked the orange ‘bot up and carried him under his arm the rest of the way to the exit of Swerve’s.

“Magnus,” Prowl started when the SIC answered his ping, “Rung was awake but did not see what happened - Hook is in the medbay, but he should be en route to Swerve’s now.”

“Status on those still unconscious?”

“Alive - I’m having Hook run diagnostics when he gets here.”

“See that he does. Report when a diagnosis is given. Ultra Magnus out,” and with that, the comm line went dead.

Right on cue, a purple and green crane came careening into Swerve’s and would’ve flattened Prowl had he not jumped out of the way in time.

“Oh, wow,” the Constructicon commented after the skidding of his tires went down as he stopped. “Definitely see the problem now.”

“Can you figure out what’s keeping them under?” Prowl asked, deciding to cut straight to the point. Hook shrugged as he unloaded various pieces of medical equipment from his subspace.

“Dunno,” he said, beginning to scan the frame closest to him. “Could be anything - I’ve been trained for field repairs, not entirely sure how to treat energon poisoning besides flushing ‘em.” The scanner beeped its completion. “‘S a remotely activated sedative - some sorta weird nanites. Probably woulda killed ‘em if they had more. Self-repair should work it out within a few hours, though we could probably knock ‘em out with an electric shock - should short circuit whatever little nanites were there.” Prowl hummed in response.

“Do you think it entered their systems through the engex?” Hook shrugged again.

“Probably,” he said succinctly. “Best to let ‘em sleep it off.”

With the given information, Prowl nodded and quickly relayed what Hook had told him to Ultra Magnus - ignoring the inquisitive prod against his spark and the crushed look on Hook’s face when he shoved it away.

“Have Hook wake up Ratchet, I need to talk to him - the situation had escalated,” Magnus ordered. Prowl dutifully passed along the command before returning to his comm.

“How so?” he inquired, watching Hook carefully traverse across the room to where Rung had said he had last seen Ratchet - the therapist himself had taken a seat on one of the nearby and out of the way benches to observe the proceedings. “Was Perceptor unable to trace where Brainstorm’s equipment teleported him to?”

“He was - it’s the when that has become problematic.”

“About thirty minutes ago?” Prowl hazarded, not really sure what Ultra Magnus was getting at. “That’s about when I chased him down, wasn’t it?”

“I’m telling you that Brainstorm traveled through time.” That gave him pause. Prowl was silent for a moment as he fully registered what he had just been told.

“Could you please repeat that so that I know my audials aren’t glitching?” Prowl heard a slight exvent - if it were any other mech, he would’ve called it a laugh, but with Magnus, it was significantly more likely to be a sigh of exasperation than anything.

“Brainstorm traveled through time.”

Prowl took a moment to vent deeply.

He _really_ should have asked Ultra Magnus more questions before he signed up. It had seemed like a good idea at the time - join Rodimus’ weird space adventure to avoid Cybertron and all his frie- _colleagues_ there. What could go wrong?

Examples of things that could go wrong:

Example A, the Constructicons. Example B, Megatron. Example C, the quantum engines. Example D, Rewind. Example E, the Constructicons, again. Example F, the-

“Prowl?” Magnus asked. He snapped out of his thoughts and pinched the ridge between his optics tiredly. Hook had gotten Ratchet up, he noted by the familiar agitated grumblings that he could hear.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” he sighed. “It’s just-” he cut himself off. “This whole trip is _ridiculous,”_ he said quietly, ignoring the slight static in his vocalizer. Magnus gave him a few more moments to collect himself before Prowl continued. 

“Ratchet’s up - you can contact him now.” Magnus acknowledged the information and cut the connection.

Prowl stood there for a few moments more before walking over and sitting on the bench next to Rung in a daze. The quiet therapist looked at him in concern.

“Something wrong?” he asked, laying a comforting hand on Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl just sighed and cradled his aching helm in his hands. Rung let him have his silence as he sorted through the events of the past thirty-six hours in his mind.

“Prowl?” Ultra Magnus pinged his comm a few minutes later. He took a deep, calming vent before answering.

“Yes?”

“I’m having Ratchet and Hook wake up certain mechs - escort them and Rung down to Brainstorm’s workshop.” Prowl nodded in agreement despite the fact that Ultra Magnus couldn’t even see him.

“May I ask as to what the purpose of this is?”

“We’re sending a team after Brainstorm.”

* * *

_Rung hummed thoughtfully before moving his rook two spaces to the left. Prowl stared intently as he let go of the piece before quickly moving a pawn and -_

_“Checkmate,” he said smugly. Rung studied the board for a second before looking back up at Prowl with a small smile on his face._

_“So it seems.” He watched for a few seconds as Prowl began to reset the board before asking his next question. “You were Second In Command to Optimus.” The hand around a pawn tightened for a second before Prowl answered, looking weary of where the conversation was headed._

_“Your point?”_

_“How do you feel about Bumblebee being promoted to leader instead of you?” Prowl set down the pawn in his hand harder than was strictly necessary._

_“He was a scout,” Prowl said simply. After a pause he picked up the pawn he had just set down, gesturing to it as he continued speaking. “A pawn, if you will.” He picked up the king and queen of his side with his other hand. “Optimus is Prime. In chess, he would be the king - he certainly has his tricks and is undoubtedly important, but limited.” He set the king down in the center of the board, demonstrating the limited range of the piece. “I was his Second In Command, the queen.” He set down the aforementioned piece. “I have range, I can do the things the leader can’t - the things the mighty king cannot be seen doing. I can’t personally jump behind the enemy lines, like a knight or Special Operations. But I’m powerful.”_

_“But what happens when a pawn gets to the other side of the board, an insignificant scout?” Prowl plucked the queen from Rung’s side of the board, using it to knock over the pawn he had set down. “They become another queen. There are now two queens on the board - but the second one, the new one, is in an advantageous position - deep behind enemy lines.” He set down the queen back in its previous space on Rung’s side of the board._

_“So of what use is the old queen? It had been limited before, you didn’t want to lose such a piece, but now that there is a second? Go wild. And if you lose it?” Prowl knocked over the queen from his side of the board. “Well, you always have the other, so why mourn?”_

_Rung stared at the board for a second, before his spindly orange hand reached out to pick up Prowl’s queen._

_“But what,” he asked, setting the queen off to the side on the table they were using, “if the old queen was released, to where it cannot be limited by squares and borders, to a world that hasn’t had it before - a chance to carve out a new place for itself?” Prowl smiled, before slowly directing Rung’s hand and the piece back to the board._

_“That’s not how chess works though, is it?” Rung looked at Prowl for a long moment, before recalling something the mech had said to him in one of his earlier sessions._

_“If the pieces believe it can be replaced so easily, if the game disregards the queen so, why does the queen not disregard the game?”_

* * *

Rodimus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose - Prowl felt a vague twinge of sympathy. “One more time - and _please_ try to keep up. Brainstorm’s traveled back in time to first cycle five-oh-two so he can kill Optimus Prime - _Orion Pax,_ as he was then - and help the Decepticons win the war.” Megatron pointedly coughed. Rodimus waved his hand dismissively to the side as he continued.

“Megatron would like me to stress that he has nothing to do with this. And, given that he was the one who _told_ me about Brainstorm’s treachery, I almost believe him.” Rodimus paused, seeming to mull over his words. “I mean I _do_ believe him. I do.” He onlined his optics and shot Megatron a significant look, not even bothering to hide it from the rest of them gathered there - Prowl sighed, he wasn’t even _attempting_ to be subtle. “Almost.”

There was an almost awkward moment of silence as Roidmus stared at Megatron before he continued. Prowl shifted his weight to his other pede, leaning against a nearby counter. “Using the _briefcase_ Nightbeat found on the other _Lost Light,_ those of us with _compatible spark types_ can go after Brainstorm and punch some sense into him.”

“Oi - Rodders-” Whirl interrupted, redirecting the co-captain’s (Rodimus was very adamant about that point) attention to the team he was briefing, “-we _get_ all that. What we _don’t_ get is all this chuff about _replacement timelines.”_

“If Brainstorm kills Orion he’ll create a _new timeline_ that will replace this one,” Perceptor interjected, returning from where he had been recalibrating the… time travel setup, or whatever it was, to send the new group after Brainstorm. “His briefcase connects him to this ship, and to the present day. If he spends an hour in the past, an hour passes here. Because we’re still here, still _reacting_ to what he’s done, we _think_ we’ve got a chance of stopping him.” Vaguely reassuring. “But it might be that he’s already changed history and the new timeline is only _gradually_ superseding this one.” Fantastic.

Rodimus leaned out of his seat towards Perceptor, annoying smile having returned to his face. “It’s time. It’s confusing.”

“Brainstorm has thus far made two time-jumps,” Perceptor continued his explanation without any acknowledgment that Rodimus had even said anything. “The first - apparently some kind of _calibration exercise_ \- took him to _Messatine;_ he left almost immediately.”

“Where is he now?” Cyclonus asked. “Do we know?”

“Once I’ve familiarized myself with the time machine’s geopositioning system I can be more _precise,_ but right now it’s a case of ‘somewhere on Cybertron.’”

“He’ll be looking for Pax,” Rodimus said, pushing himself out of his seat, turning to look at the ragtag group they had thrown together. “Rewind, you were Pax’s biographer. First cycle five-oh-two - where’s he most likely to be?” Rewind put a hand to his chin as he thought.

“He’s always been pretty _vague_ about this period of his life, but I know for a fact that he was in the _Alyon Region_ for most of the first cycle. For the last few sub cycles he’s been on the run from _Sentinel,_ who wants him dead for preventing the destruction of the _Primal Basilica.”_ Prowl pointedly avoided looking in Chromedome’s direction as Rewind said that. “On the advice of his newest mentor, _Zeta of Sistex_ \- later Zeta Prime - he’s gathered up some of Senator Shockwave’s outliers and fled underground, from where-”

“Stop!” Riptide interrupted, pressing a hand to his head with a pained expression on his face. “You sound like an _exam question._ I’m getting flashbacks.”

“I love it when he talks history,” Chromedome countered. Prowl averted his optics awkwardly.

“Alyon, first cycle five-oh-two - can you send us there?” Rodimus asked Perceptor, moving forward from Riptide’s complaint.

“In two minutes’ time, once the quantum engines are primed, _yes,”_ Perceptor answered, glancing over readings from a few of the monitors on the wall. “Alyon’s largely unpopulated. If I aim for the largest concentration of life signs, you’ve got a better chance of finding Pas.”

“Okay people,” Rodimus called out, catching the group’s attention, “two minutes. Brainstorm’s armory is over there. Tool up.”

“Hold on,” Whirl said, saddling up to Rodimus, clicking his claws together hopefully with his optic blown wide. “Let’s be _absolutely clear_ about this. You’ve just given me permission to take _whatever I like_ from Brainstorm’s forbidden toy box?” Oh, Prowl could see where this was going. “Even the _experimental_ stuff - the stuff that _unsettles_ people?”

_“No,”_ Rodimus started, reeling back, “I-” He was quickly silenced by Whirl pressing a claw into his mouth.

_“Shhh._ On second thoughts, let’s keep it _ambiguous.”_

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to take Whirl?” Ultra Magnus asked skeptically, walking over to talk to Rodimus.

“Desperate times, Magnus,” Rodimus replied. “I’m not exactly traveling with _the Wreckers._ When Brainstorm’s about to fire a _brain bullet_ at Pax’s head, I need people like Whirl…” he tapered off as they watched the aforementioned mech dive into Brainstorm’s armory with relish. “... People who are happy to _get in the way.”_

Huh. Looked like the little Prime had some semblance of processing power after all.

Magnus frowned, making a non-committal noise, gesturing Prowl over as Rodimus split to start listing all the ‘golden rules’ for the rest of the group.

“I need you to go down to the medbay and get Ratchet to begin working on a medical report for this incident, then go to the bridge and ensure that the _Lost Light_ is on a clear path for at least the rest of the day.”

Primus, Prowl felt like a secretary sometimes.

* * *

“Anything new?” Prowl asked as he strode into the medbay. Ratchet was typing something on a terminal, while Hook checked on a few of the bots lying on the floor of the overcrowded room. Ratchet paused in whatever it was that he was doing just to look over and glare at Prowl.

“Tell Magnus he’ll get his report when he gets it,” the CMO grouched, turning back to the monitor.

Prowl raised his hands placatingly, backing out of the medbay and turning to go and do… whatever it was Prowl did in a situation like this. Hook watched him leave before he was rudely interrupted by a snort from Ratchet.

At his inquiring glance, Ratchet simply muttered, “Younglings,” before making a shooing gesture at him. “Go chase your boyfriend,” he grouched at Hook as if there wasn’t a small smirk on his face. Hook began to open his mouth to (weakly) argue, pointing at the patients he was still checking up on when Ratchet waved him off before he could make a sound. “The medbay’s crowded and I’ll call you back if there’s an emergency, but right now I don’t need a medic who’s distracted by a pretty frame. Now _get.”_

* * *

Hook didn’t say anything, but that didn’t strictly mean that Prowl couldn’t summon a reason to find his presence _annoying._ Quite the opposite in fact - Prowl could always easily find reasons to be annoyed by _anybody’s_ presence.

Prowl wished Hook didn’t feel the need to be _right there._ The Constructicon stood close enough behind him that even with his own EM field pulled all the way in, he could feel Hook’s brushing against his own and it was - _incredibly_ annoying. It was when Hook actually learned in over his shoulder to look at the flight maps that Prowl had pulled up that he made an internal executive decision.

Manually dialing the sensors in his doorwings down as low as they would go, he waited for a few seconds for Hook to move and-

_Smack!_

Oh yes, that _was_ satisfying - if one were to ignore the sharp flare of pain and following ache that permeated his right panel. Hook spluttered as he reeled back.

“Did - did you just hit me with your doorwing?” the medic asked incredulously. Prowl simply turned his head to stare blankly at the other, taking quiet pleasure at the shocked look on the others face. They stared at each other for a few moments longer, before Hook looked away sheepishly, taking a few steps back.

Prowl fluttered his doorwings to dismiss the dull ache that radiated up his struts before turning back to the console.

“Ultra Magnus?” he pinged the SIC’s comm. After a moment he received an affirmative reply, allowing him to continue. “We’re headed on a path for Alsad III, ETA three hours. We don’t have enough crew awake and present to begin landing procedures. Should I adjust course to orbit?”

“Allow me to check with Megatron,” and Prowl was put on hold before he could say anything else. He sighed before leaning forward to prop himself up against the console, resting his head in his hands. He heard a set of vents stutter.

Turning his head to look at Hook once more, he saw the Constructicon whip his gaze to the side as if he hadn’t just clearly been staring at… hmm.

_“Well, you’re pretty fraggin’ hot, that’s definitely part of it.”_

Well, while he was waiting for Ultra Magnus to get back to him, he might as well test out a theory.

Turning back to stare out the viewport of the bridge, Prowl shifted all his weight to a single pede, cocked his hip and - there was a choked sounding hack from behind him. 

Intriguing, but not definitive.

Waiting a few more minutes for Hook to recover from the nasty coughing fit he had sent himself into, and since Ultra Magnus seemed to be taking his sweet old time checking in with Megatron, Prowl tried something a little more provocative (disregarding the disapproving voice in his head that he was acting a bit like Jazz).

Bracing his hands against the edge of the console, Prowl pushed back into his hips, arching his back downwards in a stretch. A short, satisfied keen escaped his vocalizer and his doorwings fluttered as he felt a few spinal struts pop back into place.

_Thunk._

Looking back over his shoulder at the noise, Prowl snorted as he noticed that Hook had apparently tripped over his own pedes, and was scrambling to stand back up. The Constructicon looked over at Prowl and, upon noticing the raised optic ridge thrown in his direction, stubbornly looked away, an odd expression on his face.

Fascinating.

“Prowl?” Ultra Magnus’ voice sounded over his comm. That had taken longer than Prowl had anticipated - but either way, it appeared that the time for fun was over, but Prowl still noted the reactions for another time. Straightening back up, Prowl answered the comm.

“Magnus?”

“Adjust the course for orbit, and then return to the labs - we anticipate bringing in Brainstorm within the hour.”

“Affirmative,” Prowl responded before switching his comm back off and proceeding to make the necessary adjustments to the navigational computer.

Entering in a few last commands and receiving confirmation from the _Lost Light’s_ computer, Prowl pushed himself away from the terminal with a flourish, whipping around only to almost crash into Hook.

“Primus,” he hissed, “do you really need to stand that close to me?” Hook stumbled out of Prowl’s way as the smaller mech brushed past him. It was a few moments before Prowl heard a heavier set of pedes follow closely behind his own stride.

They managed to make it until about a minute away from Brainstorm’s workshop before Hook decided to finally speak up.

“So why’re you mad at the rest?” Prowl sent him a confused glance over his shoulder, before deciding to indulge the crane, not wanting to test if this one would also bother him endlessly until he answered.

“The rest?” Hook nodded, and Prowl faced forwards again to hide the exaggerated cycling of his optics.

“The rest of the gestalt, y’know?” Hook continued when Prowl didn’t answer after a few moments. “None of ‘em would tell me what happened that got you so wired.” Prowl tsk’d disparagingly before answering.

“Apart from implying that you glitches only want me for my frame? Not much.” Hook choked before making a despairing whine.

“It was Bonecrusher, wasn’t it?” he asked quietly. Prowl didn’t deign him with an answer. “Look, Prowl, we like you for a lot more than just your frame could you just-” Hook reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, getting cut off when Prowl harshly whacked the appendage away.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, stopping to enter the code to the workshop, entering briskly before Hook could get another word in.

“Three…” Perceptor stated slowly from the monitor, hands flying over the controls faster than a frightened turbofox. Ultra Magnus waved Prowl over to where he was standing, a pair of stasis cuffs in his servos. There was an odd absence of Megatron from the room, but Prowl decided to worry about it some other time.

“Prowl…” Hook said helplessly. Prowl looked over at the Constructicon, if only for the purpose of glaring at the green and purple mech.

“Two…” Perceptor announced, a familiar bright glow beginning to emanate from the briefcase set up in the center of the lab.

“Just give us a chance,” Hook called over the increasingly loud hum of equipment in the labs.

“One!” Perceptor shouted, pressing one final button, and the bright light intensified before suddenly cutting out.

After a second to recalibrate the sensors in his optics, Prowl saw the group of mechs that he had just seen off a scant few hours ago, plus one. Ultra Magnus sternly stepped forward.

“Brainstorm, you’re under arrest.”

* * *

_The Next Day_

Prowl swirled his glass of engex contemplatively as he watched the movie.

“So…” Riptide started. _“How_ did future Biff get back to twenty fifteen?”

“Don’t ask - I am _so_ lost,” Tailgate responded. Prowl snorted into his glass.

“Bold words for a ‘bot who just traveled through time,” he muttered. Tailgate huffed at him.

“Just because I did it doesn’t mean I get how it works!” Prowl chuckled in response. Tailgate turned back to the screen. _“Loved_ the flying pink sled - but that bit when he watches himself playing guitar? I mean _what?”_

“It’s from the first one!” Riptide chirped. Tailgate startled.

“There’s a first one?”

_“‘Don’t need money,’”_ Cyclonus’ rich voice began from a few feet away, _“‘don’t need fame -’_ ALTOGETHER!” he called, raising his glass. ‘Bots around the table laughed before throwing their glasses up to join him.

_“Don’t need money, don’t need fame…!”_ Prowl sang along under his breath, a smirk on his face as he watched Whirl kick a leg up onto the table dramatically.

He looked down at the engex in his hand consideringly before placing the near-empty glass on a nearby waiter drone in exchange for a full one.

A chance, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just technically skip the whole Elegant Chaos arc? yes.  
> Like I love the arc, but I couldn't really figure a way to shove Prowl into it and still tell the story that I wanted to tell, so I kinda cheated a bit. Plus I wasn't ready to write chapters quite in the style of the last three yet - chapters probably aren't going to be quite as consistently long as these last few for a while.
> 
> Anyways, these next few chapters are ones that I've been looking forward to writing: we get some good times(tm) before I wreck the happiness.
> 
> Fun Fact: when I was revisiting Twenty Plus One to figure out what the spark type needed for Brainstorm's briefcase was, I found that Chromedome had a different spark type than Cyclonus and Tailgate, all of whom were in the time travel gang. So what I'm saying is continuity errors are fun.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nautica gives Prowl some questionably forward advice over questionably strong alcohol, Rung talks with Prowl about his gestalt, Prowl gives Nautica some sketchy tips, and the Constructicons get lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to also feature an argument with Rodimus but that got cut so enjoy this crack-ish chapter that tapers off into something sorta serious that I'm oddly proud of.

“Prowl? What’re you doing here?”

Prowl startled, choking on the engex sliding down his intake. “Primus, Nautica,” he hissed between coughs. “Ever heard of _knocking?”_

“Scrap, sorry,” she apologized, though Prowl could hear the bemusement in her voice as she sat down next to him, legs dangling over the edge of the _Lost Light._ “Not like there’s any doorway to knock on, though.”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” he responded shortly, before extending the bottle in his hand out to her by the neck. “Want some?”

“Is it triple-filtered?” she asked, glancing at the label with a scrutinizing optic, even though Prowl could already hear the tell-tale clicks of her filters deactivating, signaling that she had offlined her FIM chip. “Quadruple? Nice,” Nautica commented as she took the bottle, easily throwing back a mouthful. “While you’re being so generous, mind passing those bismuth flakes?”

“Don’t eat all of them at once,” Prowl chastised after she stuffed a handful into her mouth. She shrugged at him, not a hint of regret on her face.

“So,” she began after swallowing her mouthful, “what brings Mr. Lonely up to the roof of the _Lost Light?_ Didn’t think anybody would be up here.”

“Went into Fortuna, threw my money at undiluted engex and junk food, came back, decided to hide out here.” Prowl sighed, gesturing at the horizon. “Not the worst view. Magnus gave me the day off so he could oversee Brainstorm’s trial.” He swiped back the engex bottle from Nautica and took a gulp before he continued. “Speaking of, weren’t you supposed to be there? Jury duty or something, wasn’t it?” Nautica huffed, her plating fluffed up agitatedly as she wrenched the bottle back from Prowl before dutifully draining the rest of the engex.

“Got angry, stormed out,” her words began to slur a bit as she talked. “Din’ want to look at his lyin’ face.” Prowl hummed in response. A moment passed in silence before Prowl un-subspaced another bottle of engex, easily popping the cork and taking a long swig, swallowing the acidic liquid with a slight grimace. After another second of thought, he brought the bottle back up to his lips to chug at least half of the bottle before shakily setting it down next to the bowl of bismuth flakes. He’d be damned if he’d have this conversation sober.

“So why tell me?” he asked slowly. “‘Cause if it’s relationship advice you’re lookin’ for, then I’m prob’ly ‘bout as far from a reli - relia - rel,” Prowl frowned as the word caught on his heavy glossa. “‘Bout as far from a good source as you can get,” he amended. Primus, quadruple-filtered engex hit hard when you went at it faster than a small sip every few minutes.

“‘S fraggin’ obvious,” Nautica snarked back at him, snatching the bottle up to knock back another few mouthfuls.

“Tha’d hurt if I din’ know i’ was true,” Prowl responded. Nautica snorted into the bottle.

“‘S good stuff,” she muttered before taking another mouthful. “How much ya’ drop on it?”

“Ffffu,” Prowl huffed as he thought, leaning back on his arms. “Coupla’ hundred each? I dunno.” Nautica choked on the next mouthful she took, looking at Prowl incredulously.

“Well, if I’d known that I was gon’ end up drinkin’ the good stuff today, mighta waxed ‘r polished ‘r somethin’. Look classy.” She held the bottle up to her face, squinting her optics at the dwindling level. “Not complainin’,” she murmured before finishing off the rest of the bottle, swallowing the last gulp with a satisfied sigh. “I mean, student loans got me broke as, so, if your rich aft wishes to supply…?” She wiggled the empty bottle in front of Prowl’s face teasingly. He snorted in response before pulling two more bottles out of his subspace, handing one to Nautica.

“‘F Ratchet has ta’ pump our tanks, Ah’m blamin’ you,” Prowl decreed. They simultaneously popped the cork and clinked their drinks together, taking a long swig.

“What’re we talkin’ ‘bout?” she asked. He shrugged, tossing a few flakes into his mouth as she thought. She took another mouthful of engex, shuddering as the concentrated energy hit her systems. “Primus, this ‘s strong.” Prowl hummed in response.

They sat in silence for a few minutes longer, when Nautica’s face suddenly brightened.

“Oh!”

“Wha?” he asked her.

“You ‘n yer slagged relationships. Tha’s what we were talkin’ ‘bout.” He frowned.

“Don’ remember that,” he muttered.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it. Jus’ lemme give you some good, frien’ly advice,” she whispered, patting his cheek patronizingly. She paused dramatically. “Jus’ invite the ‘structies over and frag their brain modules ou’,” Nautica slurred. “Simple.”

Had Prowl been in a more sober state of mind, he would have been disgusted with the conversation and left right there and then. But, he wasn’t - he and Nautica had each downed at least an entire bottle of quadruple-filtered engex each - and quadruple-filtered hit hard, and it hit fast.

“Bu’” Prowl started after a moment of consideration. “Bu’ there’s _five_ of ‘em.” Nautica shrugged in response. “‘M too sober to be considerin’ this,” he said mostly to himself, taking another long drink of engex. Nautica laughed in response, draining more of her bottle.

“Think abou’ i’ though,” she told him. “Five big, strong mechs who wan’ do nothin’ bu’ ma’e you happy. Yu’d never leave th’ berth unsa’isfied,” she sing-songed at him, a slag-eating grin on her face as his doorwings fluttered oddly. He flicked a bismuth flake at her in retaliation and took another long drink before answering.

“Five a’ _once,_ Nau’ica,” he whispered solemnly. “Frag i’, Ah o’ly have one valve.”

“Well,” she told him conspiratorially, “y’ a’so go’ two ‘ands, a mou’, an’ a was’ por’, don’ ya’? Tha’ a’s up ta,” she paused, looking down to count on the fingers of her free hand, a perplexed look on her face. “Fou’? Fi’e? Fi’e! Tha’s fi’ve! See? Y’ c’n do i’!” She smiled, looking awfully proud of herself.

“Tha’s disgus’in,” Prowl told her, a frown on his face.

“‘M jus’ sayin’, five a’ once ain’ th’ worse berth play y’ cou’ ge’ inta,” she responded nonchalantly, throwing a few more bismuth flakes in her mouth and washing them down with more engex.

“Nau’ica, ‘m pre’y sure jus’ one’d spli’ me in half,” he deadpanned as best he could with slurred words.

“Kinky,” she said, waggling her optic ridges at him. They looked at each other for a long moment before bursting out in giggles, an undignified state Prowl normally wouldn’t have let himself get caught dead in, falling to lay on their backs.

“Primus, we’re cra’ered,” Prowl chuckled. Nautica laughed in response.

They laid there in relatively companionable silence (a novel experience, as far as plastered-Prowl was concerned) for a few more minutes before Nautica’s comm pinged, causing her to curse loudly in surprise.

“‘S Ra’chet,” she told him at his inquiring glance. Prowl grunted in response, bringing the bottle of engex to his mouth, completely forgetting that he was laying down and that gravity _didn’t work that way._ Nautica cackled while he spluttered, wiping the spilled engex off his face sullenly.

“‘Llo?” she answered, still giggling as Prowl glared at her. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Eh? No, no, ‘m perf’ctly sober. Mm-hm. Yeah. Why?” Nautica propped herself up on an arm, swirling the bottle of engex contemplatively. “Scraplets?” she choked, suddenly looking significantly more alert and alarmed. “Slag - um - shou’ I bring Prow’? Bin si’in nexta’ him for th’ las’ lil’ bit. Yup. Uh-huh, gotcha. Be there ‘n a bit.”

“Whassa’ abou’?” Prowl asked.

“Me n’ you,” she began to respond, going to poke him in demonstration but ending up slapping him in the face more than anything, “go’ go see Ra’chet. Migh’ ‘ave scraplets.” Prowl made a high whining noise in answer, slowly sitting up nonetheless. “Go’a sober up now.”

Identically pained groans escaped both their vocalizers as they reactivated their FIM chips.

Primus, Prowl was never going to drink again (deep down, he knew he definitely would, but it was a conviction that generally held until Prowl was fed up with the world again.)

“Can we…” he trailed off awkwardly, not meeting Nautica’s optics as they helped each other up. “Can we just pretend this conversation never happened?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she answered, looking embarrassed as she processed the memory files. “Yeah, but, um…? Before this moment ceases to have ever existed, can I say something?”

“I feel like I’m going to regret this, but it’s not like I can stop you,” Prowl huffed, tossing empty bottles into his subspace to dispose of later. He looked at the bottle in his hand that still had some engex in it and offered it to Nautica after a second of consideration. “Want it? Primus knows I’m a mouthy drunk.”

“Thanks,” she chirped, glancing at the bottle before tossing it and the other she held into her subspace. “But yeah, what I was gonna say was…” She paused, seeming to consider her words. A long moment passed before she continued. “I mean, you don’t have to frag the Constructicons, that’s a little much for them - I think they’d crash if you so much as blew a kiss at them,” she laughed at her joke, but coughed and continued when she realized that Prowl didn’t find it anywhere near as funny as she did.

“What I’m saying is to give them a chance? Don’t jump their struts, just spend some time with them?” She shrugged. “I mean, get to know them a bit before you decide to hate them forever.”

* * *

_“Apart from our first few sessions, we’ve never talked much about your relationship with the Constructicons,” Rung said in lieu of an actual question._

_“Because there is no relationship to talk about,” Prowl snapped._

_“Have you at least tried talking to them?” Rung asked tiredly, already sensing that the discussion would be like pulling dentae._

_“Why would I?” Prowl responded blithely. “I never wanted them as a gestalt, I_ still _don’t want them as a gestalt, they annoy me to no end, and their obsession with me is frankly concerning.”_

_“Have you at least tried to talk out your boundaries with them? Being connected at the spark must be quite intense and uncomfortable for you.”_

_“Keep the bond closed - problem solved.” Prowl shrugged as he talked. “As long as I don’t think about it, it’s like they’re not even there.” Rung frowned at that._

_“Cutting off a bond like that isn’t healthy - mentally or physically.”_

_“Well, I haven’t had a mental breakdown nor am I dying, so I think it’s working out fine.”_

_“Prowl, please,” Rung asked. “Think about this in the long term - your spark can’t sustain that kind of strain forever, neither can you avoid them forever.”_

_“Watch me.”_

_“Why are you so averse to talking to them?” Prowl gave him a long, blank look._

_“You’ve seen my track record of personal relationships, right? I don’t do them for a reason - never ends well in any capacity.” Rung sighed, making another note on his datapad._

_“Why don’t you talk to them and see what they have to say about everything?” Rung continued even as Prowl began to open his mouth to argue. “One time, see what they want from you, and the gestalt - and I mean talk - no arguments, no assumptions, no interruptions. Just let everybody have their piece. See how you feel, and decide where to go from there. Just talk to the Constructicons - one time is all I’m asking. Give them one chance, and if you still hate them, I won’t bring it up again.”_

* * *

Prowl kept his scowl firmly fixed upon his face as Hook awkwardly finished checking him over for Scraplets, the search having been performed in dead, uncomfortable silence.

“Well,” Hook coughed, not quite meeting Prowl’s piercing optics, “you don’t have any scraplets.” Prowl hummed in response.

_Take a chance._

“Hook.” The Constructicon startled at the acknowledgment, rattling the tools in the tray he held. He whipped around to look at Prowl, looking rather like a deer caught in the headlights. “Bring the gestalt to my quarters tonight.”

And then he promptly left before he could regret his decision, or to wait for Hook to say something after he inevitably snapped out of his shock.

Leaving the medbay with all due haste, he almost ran into Nautica, who had apparently been waiting for him, a troubled expression on her face.

“Wanna go into town and do something mindless or stupid?” she asked him tiredly.

* * *

“So,” Prowl began sarcastically as they weaved through the marketplace of Fortuna, “what’s got you so happy?” They had already been in the town for a good few hours, not much said between them apart from a few, awkwardly stilted attempts at small talk from each of them.

“Ever been told that the reason nobody likes you is because you’re such an aft?” Nautica asked him sullenly.

“Primus, just yesterday!” he told her in mock surprise. “However did you know?” She snorted in spite of the bad mood she seemed determined to uphold. “Now, we’ve had a far too in-depth conversation about me, so why don’t we turn the tables and talk about whatever the hell’s been going on with you?” Nautica sighed, scuffing her pedes on the road. A few smaller species scattered to avoid the impromptu hazard zone.

“Can I ask for your advice?”

“Most people would tell you to do literally anything but what I say.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I wanna live excitingly,” she told him. “So: somebody close to you keeps a really big secret, and when you find out about it, they end up hurting you and a lot of people in the process, but they did it for really unselfish reasons. How do you react to that?”

“Blackmail or guilt-trip them into doing my bidding. Depends on if they’re practical or emotional,” he responded without missing a beat. “Analyze how the events affect my ambitions and whether it can be turned to my advantage.” Nautica looked at him incredulously for a long moment, not even noticing as he steered them into a high-end electronics shop.

“Primus, no wonder people say you’re sparkless,” she muttered. Prowl shrugged in response, crouching in front of a shelf of connectors.

“It’s not like I’m not forcing you to spend time with me. You read about the war right?” He continued, not even waiting for a response from his companion. “You should already know that I’m the most hated person in Autobot high command. By popular vote, of course. Been winning in a landslide majority for quite a few years at this point.”

Nautica simply studied him in contemplative silence as he plucked a six-way connector from the shelf, walking to the counter and paying for the item and exiting the store with naught a word spoken.

“So what’s that for?” she asked inquisitively, gesturing to the non-descript box as he shoved it into his subspace.

“Everybody's telling me to take a chance, so I want to see if they actually deserve it,” he answered simply. “Now - stop trying to change the subject.” Nautica sighed in defeat.

“It’s just - I _want_ to be mad at Brainstorm, I _want_ to think he did his whole time traveling stunt for selfish reasons, I _want_ to think he’s a stupid aft but he’s so - so - _ugh!”_ she groaned, running her hands over her face slowly and dramatically. “But he’s an MTO, so if he’d succeeded, it meant that he would’ve disappeared, so he was actually trying to stop the war from ever happening at the cost of himself, so he was actually being really selfless and would’ve saved so many lives if he’d succeeded and Primus I don’t know how to feel about this.” Prowl hummed a low note, twisting his neck to look at the stalls set up around the marketplace.

“Well, if you’re going to throttle him, make sure you don’t kill him - Ultra Magnus will throw a fit if there’s a murder on the ship, and I’ll get to deal with it. Or at least make sure it looks like an accident, or maybe only a permanent coma. I’m not that picky,” he responded dryly.

“Primus, you’re useless,” Nautica told him blankly.

“I would say sic Whirl on him, but Whirl likes the weapons Brainstorm makes a bit too much for that. I can refer you to a few good bounty hunters - you could probably get them to off Brainstorm next shore leave.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, waving a hand disbelievingly at him, the other cradling her face in a semi-facepalm. “Even if I would do that, which I can tell you right now I _wouldn’t,_ I can’t afford a bounty hunter! Student loans, remember?” Prowl shrugged.

“Get Brainstorm to annoy me a bit more, I’ll foot the bill.”

_“We’re not killing Brainstorm!”_

“Fine, fine - eternal coma?”

_“We are not incapacitating or injuring Brainstorm in any fashion!”_

“Fine, have it your way - you draw him out of the ship, make sure he’s distracted, and we leave him here. Simple - nobody gets hurt and you never have to deal with your conflicted feelings about him again.”

“I’d still feel really bad about leaving him out here,” she groaned.

“Primus, plebeians and their morals,” Prowl said, cycling his optics dramatically. Nautica huffed at him in response. She opened her mouth, probably to say something snappy and witty to him, before shutting her mouth an audible click, face scrunching up in a conflicted look.

“Brainstorm’s messaged me - he wants to meet up at Swerve’s and talk.”

“Poison his engex.”

“Stop it. I’m gonna go, see what he wants, what he has to say to me.”

“Yeah,” Prowl sighed as they performed a loop, headed back to the outer edges of the city to drive back to the _Lost Light._ “Meeting up with the Constructicons soon anyhow.”

“Ooh,” Nautica cooed in interest, throwing an arm around his shoulders to poke at his face cheekily. _“Somebody’s_ got a hot date tonight.”

“That ‘somebody’ wants you to not call it that.”

“Don’t let those boys keep you out past eleven - my little mechling’s growing up so fast!”

“I’m at least six times your age.”

“Semantics,” she said, waving it off. “But really, just don’t be too…” she tapered off, gesturing meaninglessly as she searched for words. “You?”

“Hate to disappoint, but being me is my defining character trait.” Nautica laughed at that, while Prowl simply cracked a small smile.

They continued through the city in comfortable silence, before Prowl snapped his fingers, having just come up with something else.

“What?”

“Talk to Ratchet - he might reformat Brainstorm into a toaster for you if you ask nice enough.”

Nautica whacked Prowl that time, even though he was fairly sure that she didn’t even know what a toaster was.

* * *

“Circle. Sit,” Prowl snapped once the Constructicons had filed into his quarters. There was a beat before the mechs started tripping over themselves to comply, clearly not willing to tick him off by saying anything. Prowl took a moment to appreciate the fact that he had taken the time to fold the recharge slabs in his room back into the wall - it was cramped enough with five heavy-duty frames plus himself as it was.

He took a seat in the circle once the Constructicons had settled themselves - between Mixmaster and Long Haul, the closest he could be to the door - and retrieved the connector he had bought in Fortuna earlier that day with Nautica, placing it in the center of the circle. He took a few deep vents to calm himself, even as the Constructicons looked from the connector to him in confusion.

Before they could ask him anything, the small, low sound of a panel on Prowl’s arm transforming away broke the silence. They froze as they watched him draw a thin, smooth cable from his arm, plugging into the connector with a soft, deafening click.

“One shot,” Prowl said to their shocked looks. “You get one shot to prove to me that you deserve a chance.”

A moment passed before the Constructicons snapped out of their stupor, hastening to draw out their cables, borderline shoving each other in the process as they moved to hook up - Prowl was surprised that he didn’t have to waste time waiting for them to untangle the lines with how disorganized they were being about it.

The last one jacked in, and Prowl could see _everything._

They had disabled _all_ of their firewalls - and Prowl didn’t know what to make of it.

So he searched - ruthlessly digging up every single memory that even remotely referenced him (which was a lot, considering how much he had to do with the war effort, as Second In Command of the Autobots) - trying to find _something_ \- an ulterior motive, signs of betrayal, a reason to explain their behavior, _anything._

People always wanted something out of him and he couldn’t find what they wanted out of him, he _couldn’t find it_ \- he couldn’t find a way to account for the absence of trickery or the lack of forceful action.

And the Constructicons - they just _let_ him search, let him root through their minds, digging up their darkest secrets and scrutinizing every memory, dicing them finer and slicing them into smaller sections as he analyzed _everything_ \- they just _let_ him run circles in their processors, searching desperately for any explanation, and did _nothing_ to protect themselves from him and that _wasn’t right._

Prowl sidelined input from his frame as he dug deeper, refining his searches and redoing almost all of them - there had to be _something,_ there was always _something_ people wanted from him. He ignored the throb of his helm and protest of his processors as he ran multiple searches at once, over-analyzing every moment of the Constructicons lives since they became a gestalt, pouring over the way they all perceived him and _it wasn’t there._

It wasn’t there - no motive, no anger, no hate, no lies - nothing. It wasn’t there and it _should_ be there and Prowl hated that he couldn’t find it and the absolute lack of anything against him and it was _terrifying._

Prowl stalled, floated meaninglessly in the sea of information he had gathered and he just - _didn’t know._

Prowl hated not knowing. He hated this. What did they _want?_

He felt a wave of warmth wash over his spark _(when had he opened the gestalt bond?)_

 _:: Nothin’ but you Prowl. ::_ And he was so lost and disoriented that he couldn’t even tell who had spoken. Brushes of reassurance and caring and kindness and affection and lo - _no_ \- it just all rocked gently against his spark, and Prowl had never felt them use the gestalt bond this way, and it all just felt so teasingly _intimate._

And then the Constructicons seemed to take that as their cue to start pulsing information at Prowl over the hardline, ratcheting his charge higher _(when had he started to build a charge?)_

Scenes and memories washed by him, images and sounds of _him._

_:: We got you, Prowl. ::_

_The shock and respect at the depths of Prowl’s thoughts and plans, the way he used his assets and manipulated and worked those around him into compliance -_

_:: We know all of you. ::_

_The forceful and resonating echoes of him breaking free from Bombshell -_

_:: All of it: frame, mind, spark - ::_

_The feeling of awe as he wrenched together control of Devastator with his mangled yet powerful mind and tore himself free -_

_:: - ‘s all wonderful. ::_

_The overwhelming and intoxicating feeling of oneness when he willingly combined with them to fight the Necrotitan -_

_:: Never leavin’ you. ::_

A choked sob escaped his vocalizer _(was this what they saw?)_

_A time he tried to suppress his mirth at something ridiculous Rodimus had declared, a bemused look he thought no one had seen -_

_:: Nobody else, Prowl - ::_

_The reverberating sound of his voice from outside the makeshift Autobot headquarters, passionately arguing with Optimus Prime -_

_:: - never anybody else - ::_

_Him dutifully walking at a clipped stride, precisely one step behind Ultra Magnus, a concentrated look upon his face -_

_:: - only you - ::_

_A muffled grin on his face, hand hiding his mouth as Nautica and Tailgate tried to make him smile, laughter in his optics -_

_:: - never judge you - ::_

_His face set in hard lines as he ordered them about, not a hint of hesitation at their burly frames -_

_:: - ‘s okay. I’s all okay. ::_

Somehow, that sentiment meant more to him than... well, a lot of other things he had ever been told.

A long, high keen escaped his vocalizer, overwhelmed by everything the Constructicons showed him, charge peaking and bursting and racing through his circuits as he overloaded. His vision pixelated and his audials seemed to detect nothing but white noise, vents stuttering as his awareness returned fully to his frame.

Hands caught him gently as he fell backward, limp doorwings barely brushing the ground as his frame gave out. Time seemed to blur as he was laid on his recharge slab _(when did they have the chance to pull that out?)_ almost reverently, his cable being quickly yet delicately spooled back into its place in his arm.

Prowl laid there, not moving or speaking or doing a thing as his senses and control came back to himself, staring blankly at the ceiling. He would have thought the Constructicons had left, had he not heard them occasionally shuffling their feet, awaiting his verdict.

It was a few more minutes before he had brought himself back under enough control to trust himself to speak or move.

Slowly moving his hands to cover his face (taking nowhere near as much pleasure from the frightened/startled squeak of Scavenger as he normally would have), Prowl made his decision.

“One,” he told them, hating the static that laced his voice. “One chance. That’s it.”

A few more moments passed as the Constructicons waited to see if he had anything else to say before they started shuffling themselves out.

“C’mon,” one of them said _(Long Haul,_ he knew instinctively), “let ‘im rest.”

And then they left.

Prowl lowered his hands from his face, turning onto his side a few minutes later, pillowing his head on his arms after properly hooking himself up to his recharge slab.

He focused on the tide of the gestalt bond, the gentle push and pull of emotions resonating from the Constructicons, the warmth of his spark, lulling him into a sense of complacency.

It… wasn’t _horrible,_ he decided, sinking into the feeling.

His last thought before he fell offline was that perhaps, maybe, something just might go his way for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thAT'S RIGHT FOLKS  
> *bangs gong, dramatically pulls rope to unravel banner hanging from the ceiling*  
> WE'VE ACHIEVED SOMETHING.  
> Everyone - turn to your left, shakes hands with the person standing next to you, and say, "well done."  
> Okay, so it's not gonna work if everyone turns to their left.
> 
> Nautica & Prowl bad-advice-based solidarity wasn't something I knew I needed in my life until I wrote this chapter.
> 
> Jokes aside, this was a really fun chapter to write (There was something viscerally satisfying about writing a section that basically amounts to 'Nautica: *chugs four bottles of rubbing alcohol* juST FUCK ALREADY'), and I'm super hyped at the progress that's been made!
> 
> Now here's the fun killer - the next chapter is going to skip forward quite a few months in time, to just around Thunderclash's pre-wake. I'm trying to run this fic along the lines of the comic and keep it tied in with events that happen there, and I just don't want to try and pack in the Constructicons trying to court Prowl in between the really plot-heavy parts that are coming up soon - it just feels way too dense to me, so I just decided not to. But the next chapter will be mostly focused on the changing dynamic between Prowl and the Constructicons, though do not doubt that there is still progress to be made in there - it's a relationship update/check-in if you will.  
> I have, however, outlined a fun little miniseries that will take place in between this chapter and the next one. Constructicon-centric, full of shenanigans and bad ideas (Whirl: give him a knife that's also a gun, that's romantic / Bonecrusher: sounds legit / Nautica: waIT NO-). I'll get around to writing it, but I'm still deciding whether to upload it in segments alongside this fic when I have a good portion of it written or wait until this is finished so I don't have too much going on at once.  
> I really hope this doesn't disappoint anybody too much, but it's just a decision I've made and I'm sticking with it.  
> Bear with me and I hope that you enjoy the rest of this fic nonetheless!
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, Nautica and Prowl dance, Rung discusses the gestalt and blooming comradery, the Constructicons get even luckier, Megatron calls at the worst possible moment, and Nautica gives Prowl some of that Good Friendship (TM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi here's that time skip I warned y'all about.

_Ten Months Later_

“Charisma parasites?” Prowl asked skeptically as Nautica led him across the make-shift dance floor at Swerve’s.

“Yep,” she chirped happily. “Charisma parasites, personality ticks, whatever you want to call them.”

“Well,” he started dryly, “I’m glad I opted out of going then.”

“Nah,” she told him flippantly, “even if you hadn’t stayed back to ‘catch up on work’ or whatever you were doing, you’d have been completely safe. Not a drop of charisma to drain out of you.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem-” Nautica cut off with wince, looking down at where he had just stepped on her foot. “Primus, you’re a slag dancer.” Prowl shrugged unrepentantly. “Though you should have come, the Constructicons were having a blast from what I saw.” He snorted in response.

“You were lucky enough to get me to come to _this_ party - I definitely wasn’t going to shuttle over with everyone else to the _Vis Vitalis_ for one.”

“Why not? Might’ve been the closest thing to a date night you and the ‘Structies would have ever gotten a chance to go on.”

“What about-”

“Prowl,” Nautica cut him off exasperatedly. “Extremely one-sided Scrabble on the observation deck doesn’t count.” Prowl opened his mouth to argue. “Even if you brought the nicest engex Swerve was willing to let you buy.” His mouth snapped shut with a click.

“I suppose,” he sighed after a moment. “I’m planning on doing something with the Constructicons later tonight if that helps restore my trashed image any in your eyes.”

“Ooh,” she cooed interestedly as she twirled him, awkwardly arching her body to avoid getting whacked by his doorwings. “Do tell - last time you were vague about meeting up with the Constructicons, you went in as the definition of angry and came out with five boyfriends.” Prowl groaned as Nautica’s EM field poked curiously at his.

“Magnus cleared me to begin my shift late tomorrow, and the rest of the Constructicons don’t really _have_ jobs, they just help out when people ask them too, so they can start later as well, so…” Prowl shrugged, averting his gaze.

“What, you’re gonna have a sleepover?” Nautica asked, sounding both disappointed and unimpressed. Prowl cleared his vents awkwardly and continued refusing to look at her.

“That’s certainly one way to look at it, if juvenile,” he muttered quietly in response. Nautica looked at him blankly for a long moment.

“What’s that supposed to me- oh. _Oh.”_ Nautica smirked slyly at him, and Prowl felt a horrified shiver crawl down his struts, vaguely wondering why he bothered to tell her anything. “Nice. I’m surprised, but good for you.”

“What’s there to be surprised about?” he asked defensively. “It’s a logical progression in a relationship and-”

“No, no, that’s not quite what I meant,” Nautica laughed. “You barely let any of them hold your hand in public, so it’s just a bit of a shock is all I’m saying.”

“Would you rather I make out with them in a corner booth? I’m sure they’d be thrilled to participate.” She let out a bark of laughter in response.

“Keep it to the lower decks or something - don’t want to scandalize the masses, do you?”

“You fully underestimate how much your bad decision making has influenced me.” Nautica simply gave him a dry look in response. “Can we pause the dancing for a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” she responded, leading him back off the dance floor, plucking two full glasses of engex off a passing waiter drone and handing one to Prowl. “So, what, you’re just going to invite them to your quarters and frag their brain modules out? No preamble?” she asked as they leaned against a wall, observing the partying crew of the _Lost Light._

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Kind of? I mean, generally, people would go do something together, _then_ go back to their quarters and frag. You might give the Constructicons spark failure or something if you just spring that on them without leading it up to them in some way.” Prowl huffed.

“Bit late to change plans now - I could just sleep in or something, but that’s a waste of the time I put into getting Magnus to agree without telling him what I was doing.” Nautica chuckled at that before replying.

“I’m not saying don’t, I’m just saying you probably could approach it better? Or just jump their struts, I guess - surprise or no, they’d definitely be down for it, the way they look at you.”

“I’m -”

“Shhh!” Nautica suddenly hushed him, slapping her hand over his mouth as she squinted at something across the room. “Put a pin in it - your targets have just made it to the party!” she declared happily, manually turning Prowl’s head to look at where five green and purple mechs had just entered Swerve’s. “Alright, go talk to them and do whatever it is you’re gonna do. We can meet up for rations or engex or something tomorrow, I wanna know _everything.”_ Prowl shot her a disgusted look as she leaned all her weight into trying to push him in the Constructicon’s direction.

(Ineffective, as he was significantly more dense than average after the combiner reformat)

“That’s disgusting, and I’m not going to be telling you anything.” Nautica pouted at him.

“Aw, I thought we had moved past you being a complete prude? I’m hurt, Prowl. Truly. I thought we were besties. Besides, you should’ve known that I would interrogate you about it the second you told me anything at all.”

“Not going to say anything, Nautica.”

“You will,” she assured sinisterly. Prowl cycled his optics as he acquiesced to her pushing and began to move towards the Constructicons. “Now, go get laid!” she exclaimed before disappearing back into the crowd.

* * *

_“When I suggested you talk to the Constructicons, I didn’t really mean to hardline with them,” Rung stated simply after Prowl’s explanation of what he had done._

_“It got me results,” he responded shortly. “You said talk to them, but I wanted to know for sure that they wouldn’t lie - so I hardlined with them. It was a simple solution, and it got the job done, didn’t it?”_

_“I suppose,” Rung answered. After a moment, he continued. “So what did you gain from the experience? I must admit, it’s rather surprising that you aren’t that upset at then anymore - this is quite the turnaround from your opinion of them last week.” Prowl shrugged._

_“I was mostly looking for ulterior motivations - anything that says why they want me, what they could possibly gain from a relationship with me, etcetera, etcetera.”_

_“And am I allowed to presume, from the results, that you didn’t find any?”_

_“No,” Prowl said after a moment. “It was odd - people generally have something to gain from me. They’d dropped_ all _their firewalls, so I can tell you with a quite a bit of certainty that they didn’t have anything to gain - at least anything they actively wanted.”_

_“They got you, didn’t they?” Rung asked with a small smile. Prowl simply hummed in response. The look on his face told Rung that he didn’t want to say much more on it - Prowl was incredibly easy to read once one found the small tells he had. Satisfied in the knowledge that the Constructicons were at least a slightly less taboo subject than they had been before, Rung was decided to switch topics and return to the gestalt again at a later date. “Now, might I ask you about Nautica?”_

_“What about her?” Prowl asked skeptically, though the slightly more relaxed cant of his doorwings signified that he was more than happy to move on from whatever had gone down with the Constructicons._

_“From what I know, at least, you seem to be forming a friendship with her - how is that going for you?”_

_“We’re not_ friends, _we’re acquaintances at best,” Prowl answered moodily. Rung quirked an eyebrow disbelievingly._

_“Getting overcharged together on Scarvix is very friend-like behavior for just acquaintances.”_

_“How,” Prowl started exasperatedly, “could you_ possibly _know about that?”_

_“Ratchet told me just before he left,” Rung told him amusedly. “He comm’d Nautica for the scraplet check and she apparently sounded quite overcharged, and was with you.”_

_“Still doesn’t mean we’re friends,” Prowl answered persistently. Rung sighed._

_“Nautica has actively sought out your companionship since the… duplicate_ Lost Light _incident, and she’s definitely one of the few who don’t seem to mind you, and you don’t seem to have a problem with.”_

_“I don’t do friends very well - I end up thinking we’re pals or something, and then something like the whole…” Prowl made articulated but meaningless movements as he searched for words. “Like the whole thing with the cerebro shell and reformat and the bonding happen, and none of them notice anything different.” He sighed heavily, and Rung made several notes on his datapads as Prowl talked. “I knew all of them for a lot longer than I’ve known Nautica - millennia more, and she’s been talking to me for what, a month?”_

_“Prowl, as a colonist, she’s probably the most unbiased person against you on this ship,” Rung told him. “Being on board the_ Lost Light _has become a second chance for many people - Cyclonus, Megatron, Whirl - and those are just the most obvious. Everybody here is getting a second chance in some way shape or form. You’re not excluded from that. This is your chance to redo things, but also to do things your way, without the political pressures and machinations on Cybertron. Talk to the Constructicons, talk to Nautica, talk to other people - you don’t have to trust them with everything, you don’t need to trust them with your entire being, or anything extravagant like that. Just talk to people, so you’ll have somebody who can be there for you when you need it.”_

* * *

Prowl slowly drifted out of recharge, systems purring contentedly as hands gently rubbed the edges of his doorwings. He hummed happily as he was shifted to lean against one of the Constructicons’ chest _(Bonecrusher,_ he could tell by the kibble), doorwings held at a relaxed angle between his frame and the one he rested on.

The slight pampering continued for a moment more before a pair of lips softly laid a kiss against his own. Prowl onlined his optics sluggishly to see Mixmaster pulling away to sit back on his pedes, the rest of the Constructicons tucked closely in a tight circle around him.

“Morning,” he croaked tiredly, allowing a small grin to cross his face at the answering beaming smiles from the Constructicons. Prowl took account of his frame as the rest of them claimed their own kiss from him - his hip joints were sore, his valve felt tender, and his struts ached in an almost pleasant fashion.

Prowl tilted his head back as Bonecrusher hunched forward to give him an awkwardly upside-down kiss, large hands sliding down his waist and over his hips to rest on the inside of his thighs, drumming his fingers. He allowed his engine to give an interested rev, pulling back from Bonecrusher to splay his legs indulgently. He smirked at the responding growls from each of the Constructicons, laying back as Scavenger leaned forward to mouth at his valve panel.

Not to be outdone, Long Haul began to massage his doorwings, Hook dipped his servos in and out of transformation seams, tweaking wires, and Mixmaster began to -

“Prowl, respond,” Megatron’s voice filtered through his comm.

Prowl startled, jerking upright as what lazy charge he had been building dissipated faster than he thought possible as the reality outside of his quarters came crashing back down on him. His doorwings shot up at attention, narrowly missing Long Haul’s face. The rest of the Constructicons drew back at the sudden change in his body language, looking at him concernedly. He held up a hand to stop their questions as he vented before answering the comm.

“Prowl. What’s the situation?” he responded shortly, pulling himself together, doorwings settling into a stiff, neutral position.

“We have a bit of an emergency - better to explain in person. Report to the bridge.”

Prowl suddenly became extremely aware of the tacky transfluid staining the inside of his thighs, paint transfers in… _various_ places, small dents here and there, and could feel his frame heat in embarrassment at the state he found himself in.

“I can be there in half an hour,” he responded shortly, cutting the line before Megatron could ask any questions or demand him to be there sooner. He cleared his vents awkwardly, determinedly not making optic contact with any of the Constructicons as he slowly stood up, ignoring the disappointed teek of their EM fields. “I’m just… gonna go shower and get to the bridge,” he told them. “You guys can just hang out here for a bit longer if you want to.” After another moment of silence, he promptly turned and exited his quarters, almost running to the wash racks across the hall from where his quarters were.

He could almost pretend he hadn’t heard one of the Constructicons call a ‘love you’ to his back.

Prowl leaned heavily against the wall after turning on the solvent, the sponge in his hand not breaking from his crushing grip by merit of being a _sponge._ After a few moments of controlling his deep ventilations, he began to scrub at the sticky fluids drying on his legs, ignoring the way his spark twisted in its casing. Its pulsing churned his tanks, half from his conflicted feelings, and half from the excess energy of a spark merge _(oh, Primus, they had spark merged)._

“I repeat: will Swerve please report to the bridge?” Megatron’s voice filtered over the PA. "That was your first and last 'please'."

He moved to scrub the paint transfers along his frame in an effort to ignore the gymnastics of his spark.

 _“Constructicons. Prowl._ All _of you…”_

Prowl scrubbed harder at the transfers as the deep growling voice resounded in his head.

 _“... Become_ one.”

He became worried that he was going to strip off his own paint before a particularly stubborn streak of purple washed away. He ignored the concerned pulses of the Constructicons through the gestalt bond.

_“Now-”_

His spark pulsed frantically and dizzily as he scrubbed at the last, faint and barely there traces of foreign paint on his frame. He felt nauseous.

**“- Devastate.”**

Prowl purged on the floor of the washracks.

* * *

Nautica and Prowl sat in an air of reserved quiet in a corner booth of Swerve’s, which was being make-shift managed by Mixmaster and Bluestreak.

“Is he gonna be alright?” Nautica asked quietly, breaking the silence. “Swerve, I mean.”

Prowl hummed, taking a sip of his engex. “Full recovery last I heard. Velocity looked incredibly proud of herself.” Nautica chuckled.

“She would be - just passed her exams, so this would be the first life she’s saved.”

“Ah.” They lapsed into silence once more, neither really sure what to say.

“So…” Nautica drawled, glancing up at Prowl. “What’s up with you?” He snorted derisively.

“What makes you think anything’s happened to me?” he asked.

“That defensive response, for one,” she responded, pointing a finger at him. “You’ve also been off all day, you freeze up each time I mention the Constructicons-” Prowl’s plating snapped against his protoform, _“-exactly_ like that, you flinched whenever Megatron spoke, when usually you’d just glare at him, and you’ve been even testier than usual, if that’s even possible.”

“That doesn’t mean anything happened, I’m just having an off day,” Prowl muttered moodily.

“Prowl, please, I know what an ‘off day’ looks like, and this isn’t it,” she told him blankly.

“There is nothing _wrong_ with me -”

 _“Dammit Prowl!”_ Nautica snapped, slamming her fist on the table, effectively shutting him up. “Whirl told me he saw you purging in the wash racks this morning, that’s not _normal behavior!”_

“Okay,” Prowl growled in response, “two things: one, why would Whirl tell you anything, and two, what makes you believe him?”

“He said something about helping out a fellow suffering wingmech and Whirl doesn’t exactly _lie_ that much, he omits information much more often, plus he doesn’t have much to gain from lying about this. But that isn’t the point, what I want to know is why you were purging in the wash racks?” Prowl glared at his engex, absently tracing a finger around the rim of the glass. “Did something go wrong with the Constructicons last night?”

“Last night was _fine.”_

“Then what’s the problem?” she asked, sounding exasperated. Prowl fisted his hands uselessly. Nautica reached out, gently tipping his head up, forcing him to look at her. “Prowl, _please,_ I’m worried. This quietness isn’t like you.” He laughed bitterly, a sour smile flashing across his face.

“At least I know you’d notice if I got mind-controlled,” he chuckled dryly.

“Just let me know what’s wrong, what the problem is, and I’ll try and help you.” Prowl sighed, leaning back and tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling.

“I can’t explain it,” he said at last.

“Can you try, at least?” Nautica attempted. He huffed, looking back down to take another sip of his engex. After a moment, he continued.

“I mean that I _can’t,_ Nautica it’s-” he gestured meaninglessly, “- I can’t explain it with words. Not well. Not enough to make you understand - here,” he said, leaning forward and placing his arm across the table, slipping back the panel that covered his hardline array. Nautica choked on her drink, looking from the offered port to him and back several times skeptically.

“Are you sure? I mean, that’s a lot to offer Prowl, I’m not sure -”

“I’ll keep it one way - you don’t have to show me anything,” he offered quietly, wondering if it was a good point to begin regretting his decision. Nautica nodded slowly, laying her own arm across the table and drawing a cable from her arm.

“You sure about this?” she asked lowly as she held the connector just above his port. There was a beat of silence before Prowl jerkily nodded his head, clenching his jaw. “Alright then,” Nautica sighed, steeling herself before she quickly plugged in.

Prowl could feel Nautica’s presence wash over his mind, pausing for a second as he allowed his systems to scan her mind before sent her a tiny data packet - a simple paragraph of what had happened up to what he would show her. After allowing Nautica a moment to process, he pushed forth his explanation.

* * *

“Aw.”

 _Prowl could hear Bumblebee, he could see Bumblebee, he could feel the wash of the EM fields around him… “Hello, Bee…” But he couldn’t move. “Welcome to the_ Black Room.” _He held both Starscream and Wheeljack at gunpoint, the two of them kneeling submissively in front of him. He couldn't talk, but he was, but he didn’t_ want _to say that, but he did and he couldn’t control it and-_

“Bumblebee-” _Wheeljack exclaimed, and Prowl was panicking because he (but not him) had told Wheeljack to stay quiet and he knew what would happen, “- remember what’s most_ important _-” he could feel his finger tightening around the trigger and he knew what would happen and he tried to stop it but he couldn’t and he couldn’t do anything and - “- it’s -”_ **CHOOD!**

 _Wheeljack’s head was gone and his frame fell to the floor and Prowl couldn’t do anything but he tried and but could and he was out of control and Prowl hated being out of control and as Wheeljack’s energon leaked onto the dull metal floor he wanted to purge but he couldn’t because he couldn’t do_ anything.

 _“You never_ listened, _Wheeljack,” he said indifferently but he wasn’t but he was and Prowl didn’t know how to feel. “I_ told _you I’d do that.” But that was wrong because he hadn’t told Wheeljack that - he had, but he hadn’t wanted to, it was Bombshell who told him that but it was also him -_

 **“NO!”** _Bumblebee cried desperately, straining towards Wheeljack much like Prowl except even though Bee was physically restrained he could move and Prowl tried and he could and he couldn’t do anything and he couldn’t vent except he could but he felt like he should but he was and -_ “Prowl - how could you?!”

_How could he?_

* * *

Prowl accelerated the memory to get to his point, ignoring the nauseous waves washing over his mind from Nautica and the unsteady swirl of his spark until -

* * *

 _“But Prowl - why?” Bee asked desperately, a sense of deep betrayal on his face and Prowl felt_ insulted _because he and Bee were friends, so why hadn’t Bee been able to see -_

 _”You really_ are _as stupid as Prowl_ thinks _you are,” he said smugly in response (except it wasn’t him and everything felt wrong)._

_“What?” Bee asked quietly._

_“I’m_ not _Prowl,” he said. And Prowl felt sick, because he knew it was true, Bombshell wasn’t him, but it felt like he was saying that and he was Prowl but he was saying he wasn’t but it was Bombshell who was making him say that except it felt wrong and - “I haven’t_ been _Prowl since...” Bombshell cut over him, except he was cutting over himself, except it felt like he was cutting over Prowl (and he was well and fully panicking by this point) and continued._

 _“...I_ confronted _him.”_

 _“You found his_ cerebro shells _\- big, clumsy…” It felt right for him to be referring to Bombshell as another, but it was wrong because it wasn’t what he wanted to_ say.

“... Inelegant.”

_Prowl became unable to focus on the words coming out of his - Bombshell’s? - his? - Bombshell’s mouth as he studied the look on Bee’s face - the sudden realization dawning as Bombshell explained what he had done to him and Prowl hated that it took it being explained to him for Bee to notice that anything was even off with him to begin with and -_

_“Unnnhhh…” he groaned as he swayed on his feet - except it was him, it was_ actually _him - he could still feel Bombshell in the back of his mind but that didn’t matter because it was_ him.

 _“Prowl - I -” Bumblebee cried, rushing over as he collapsed to the ground, the hunger of his fuel-deprived frame gnawing at his tanks as he felt strutless without the control of Bombshell, free for the first time in_ months.

 _“Bee…” he groaned, lolling his head slightly to look at the smaller ‘bot. “It wasn’t… wasn’t_ me… _how could you not…_ see _that…?”_

_“I…” Bumblebee choked, looking as if he wanted to say something in response before Megatron had apparently decided that they had wasted enough time and cut over him._

_“Constructicons. Prowl._ All _of you…” he trailed off ominously. “... Become_ one.”

 _Prowl screamed long and loud at the sudden, foreign pull of his spark, the force and bend of his frame transforming in a way it never had before, in a way it wasn’t supposed to and it_ hurt _and Prowl couldn’t reject it because Bombshell was back and he couldn’t stop it and he hated it and then there were five more minds crushing the ruins of his own as Bombshell retreated, allowing the pressure of the others to control him as they invaded his mind and saw everything he had ever known and they were there and Prowl didn’t want them there and they shouldn’t be there and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and stop existing but he couldn’t because he - was - Devastator - and - and - he - could - couldn’t -_

 _“Now -” Megatron commanded, and Prowl could feel his mind being smothered and squashed and he was having a difficult time concentrating and -_ **“- Devastate.”**

_He couldn’t do anything._

* * *

Nautica reared back as Prowl sharply cut off her access. He noticed the slightly haunted look in her eyes as she spooled her cable back in, not saying anything. After a moment Prowl chugged the rest of his engex before talking.

“When I woke up with the Constructicons this morning, I -” he cleared his vents awkwardly, drumming his fingers on the table. “Megatron comm’d and commanded me to the bridge and -” Prowl shrugged helplessly, falling into silence.

“You panicked,” Nautica filled in quietly after a few moments, swirling her own engex aimlessly. “You thought you were back there, panicked, and the memories made you purge.”

“It wasn’t that bad at first, I just left and went to the wash racks and then Megatron called for Swerve over the PA and…” Prowl trailed off again, staring a hole into the table.

“It made it worse?” He nodded noiselessly.

“I’ve never had this problem with Megatron before,” he muttered, flagging down a passing waiter drone and depositing his empty glass. “It’s been over a year - I’ve dealt with him just fine until now.” A hand strayed up to rub and pick at his chevron, the sensations providing a distraction.

“Okay,” Nautica said, resting her head in her palm. “Okay, this might just be me speculating but - up until now, all of your interactions with Megatron have been pretty regulated by Ultra Magnus, and he generally sends you to do something else whenever he meets with Megatron if he can. So, this wouldn’t really have had a reason to come up, nor an opportunity. But today, you’d filed for time off, and should’ve been fairly relaxed if last night was as ‘fine’ as I think it was,” she said with a playful wink, “so you hadn’t been prepared to talk to him.”

“So what I think,” she continued, “is that you weren’t mentally prepared for him to talk to you, especially for him to command you to do anything, not in the way you would be normally - so instead of being ready to brush any memories off, your mind immediately flashed back to when that happened, and as much as I like them, I don’t think being surrounded by the Constructicons helped much in any way.”

“Could be,” Prowl murmured in response, snatching his refilled drink off the waiter drone, confusion teeking in his field as he noticed the small datapad clumsily tied to the glass.

“What’s that?” Nautica asked as Prowl turned it on, persistently leaning forward to catch a glimpse even as he tried to swat her away.

_Prowl,_

_Scrabble on the observation deck later? I’m bringing engex and Bonecrusher promises to not use only curses as his words this time._

_\- Mixmaster_

“Oh, that’s sweet of them,” Nautica cooed, Prowl having given up on trying to push her away. “Primus knows that game’s not going to end any differently than usual.”

“What,” Prowl asked, cycling his optics, “do you want me to play Chinese Checkers with them or something? At least that game was originally _designed_ to have six players. Scrabble wasn’t.”

“I don’t know what that is, but if it’s anything like that time you tried to teach me to play chess, don’t,” she chirped as he began to type his answer. “When are you going? You’re going, right? If you say no I’ll _make_ you go.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he grumbled, dropping his response on the platter of a passing drone. “Mixmaster should be helping with the bar for the next little bit, so at the very least I have another two hours.” Nautica hummed in response, flopping back to slouch in her seat.

“That’s good,” she said simply. “But, uh, Prowl?”

“Yes?” he answered, quirking an optic ridge at her hesitant nature - she hadn’t exactly been shy talking to him since the conversation-that-never-happened-and-never-existed.

“You can’t pretend that this didn’t happen, or that it’s okay, because, um,” she stuttered, fidgeting in her seat, “it really clearly isn’t, at least to me, so, uh.” She leaned forward, pausing for a considering moment before gently laying her hand on top of his. “Talk about it to Rung, at least? He’s good at this stuff, and he believes in patient confidentiality too much to tell anybody anything, so at least try and tell him what you told me? I like to think that I’m your friend, and I _do_ care about you, but I’m really not the best person to help you through any of this, so…”

“Yeah,” he muttered in response. After a slight moment, he twisted his hand to lace his fingers with Nautica’s. “Yeah, okay.” She beamed brightly in response, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Okay. No problems with the Constructicons, though? Everything’s good on that front?”

“No, it wasn’t them they -” Prowl cut himself off awkwardly. After a moment, he squeezed Nautica’s hand back and continued. “They _didn’t_ do anything wrong. It’s all good.”

“Great,” Nautica answered with a bright smile. “Now, tell me _all_ about what happened last night.” She leaned in interestedly, even as Prowl groaned exhaustedly and slumped back. “How are you even _sitting,_ I mean, I thought you’d be totally - wait, hang on,” she paused, a slight frown on her face. “Mind if I take this?” she asked sheepishly, gesturing to her comm.

“Sure, go for it,” he answered, not able to fully keep the relief out of his voice.

“Lotty? What’s up?” In the pause that followed, a confused look crossed her face. “I can ask, but what’s the emergency?” Nautica sighed as she got her answered, cycling her optics before muting her comm and looking back at Prowl. “Velocity wants to know if I can give her your comm number - something really important, won’t tell me what.”

“I - yeah? Alright,” he answered confusedly, not sure what could be bigger than the disaster that had already happened that day. No sooner had he let Nautica ping Velocity his comm frequency that he got an urgent ping from the aforementioned medic - and if the affronted look on Nautica’s face was anything to go by, it was after an abrupt hang up. “What’s the situation, Velocity?” Prowl asked, voice taking on the standard clipped tone he used on shift.

“Um, one of your agents - Agent 113? Yeah, it turns out that Swerve’s old war wound wasn’t just a regular injury, it was a report from one of your agents and I need you to come down here and look at it? I’ve already comm’d Rodimus and Ultra Magnus and Magnus told me to get you.”

And wow, wasn’t _that_ something to unpack.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes, hold tight,” he answered shortly, cutting the comm. “Sorry, Nautica, I’ve got to go - if the Constructicons ask, tell them that I have to put a raincheck on that Scrabble game.” Nautica nodded, though she looked disappointed.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” she assured. “Remember, talk to Rung next time you go see him?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” Prowl said, sliding the rest of his mostly full engex glass to Nautica, who easily caught it and poured what little remained of her own drink into his before taking a sip.

“And you may have gotten off talking about it now, but I’m going to wrangle the details of your mind-blowing interface out of you one of these days and don’t you doubt it for a second,” she warned menacingly.

“Ah,” he countered smugly, taking a step backward from the table. “But that day is not today, so I claim my victory for now.” Nautica laughed even as he turned around to leave.

“See you later,” she called, chuckling. Prowl waved in response, throwing her a slight smile over his shoulder as he continued his stride out of Swerve’s and down towards the medbay. The smile slipped off his face as he walked.

He hadn’t heard from Agent 113 in a long time - in fact, he was almost completely certain that he was dead, or at the very least _extremely_ off the grid, considering that the DJD had acquired a new Vos.

Agent 113 - Dominus Ambus.

He sighed tiredly as he approached the medbay - he boarded the _Lost Light_ to escape the war and politics, but war and politics followed him there anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was honestly meant to be a fun and happy chapter, real lovey-dovey and all that, like in my outline there was never a hint of sadness. When I started, I was gonna be surprised if this chapter even got above 2k words and then suddenly I was hit by the a n g s t t r a i n and seven hours of frantic typing later we're here.
> 
> Also, if you're confused by what Prowl was saying while he was showing Nautica his memories, it was mainly a confused, energy-deprived conflict of not wanting to do something but being able to feel yourself doing it, and (for lack of a better way to put it) what an absolute trip it must have felt like. Like he doesn't feel trapped but he d o e s ? It's a paradox, ignore me.
> 
> But anyway, Nautica-Prowl friendship continues to give me life, the Constructicons have made a lot of progress with Prowl (even if Megatron is a massive trigger and cockblock), and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Like, as much as you can enjoy something that's 60% unexpected angst. Next chapter is looking to be a short one, but I could be wrong because boy was I wrong about this one.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus tries to get Prowl to spill the tea on Agent 113 (unsuccessfully), and Prowl spends some time with the Constructicons.

“Prowl,” Rodimus called as Prowl himself strode into the medbay. “Nice of you to join the party. But to the point, you used to be in charge of Special Operations, right?” He began to open his mouth to answer but was cut off by an extravagant shushing motion. “Ah-ah-ah-ah,” Rodimus interrupted. “Rhetorical question, don’t answer. Now,” he clapped his hands as Prowl came to a stop in front of the screen they were all studying. “Agent 113. Spill the beans.”

“Most of what I can tell you is still _classified,”_ he answered through gritted teeth, ignoring Rodimus’ exasperated groan of ‘Primus’. After an affirming nod from Ultra Magnus, he began to move his hands quickly across the keyboard, speedily working through the information stored in the bullet Velocity had already uploaded to the main terminal. “Infiltrated the DJD, and I presume dead since they have a new Vos.”

“Agent 113 infiltrated the DJD?” Ultra Magnus asked, a slightly shocked tone to his voice. “What purpose would monitoring a squad that only goes after Decepticon traitors serve?”

Prowl shrugged tiredly. “You’d be surprised by the things the DJD comes across, yet leave alone because it isn’t the next traitor on the List.”

“Does the name mean anything? It means something, doesn’t it? There’s always an underlying meaning with you,” Rodimus accused as Prowl shifted seamlessly through the information.

“Inside joke,” he snapped at him, not particularly eager to be there in any capacity. “I could explain it,” he told to the inquiring expression thrown in his direction, “but that would require disclosing still-classified information.”

“So what can you tell us?” Ultra Magnus asked him, cutting off Rodimus, who was beginning to look agitated with Prowl’s sharpness. He hummed, scrolling through the data.

“There are some notes about a few hits - mainly Phase Sixers, something vague about a sort of schism somewhere, a warning about Brainstorm, and here,” he said to Rodimus, highlighting a particular paragraph with attached coordinates, “is something that’s the most likely to interest you. A claim of finding the Necrobot, plus the coordinates of where he is supposedly based.”

“That’s it?” Rodimus asked, though looking a little intrigued as he scanned the text about the Necrobot. “A lot of fuss for so little information.”

“Most of the data is corrupted and irretrievable,” Prowl said primly. “There’s nothing particularly groundbreaking about what we do have. Do with it what you will.”

* * *

Prowl raised his optic ridges scrutinizingly as he entered the Constructicons’ quarters - well, one of them.

“If I knew we were having a two-player game night, I would’ve brought my chess set,” he remarked, looking pointedly at the mancala board spread between Scavenger and Long Haul.

“Prowl!” Scavenger cheered, reaching for him. “You made it!”

“I told you I would be here, didn’t I?” he responded, allowing Scavenger to maneuver him until he was cuddled in the Constructicon’s lap like a teddy bear from Earth.

“Yeah, but you’re busy a lot of the time,” Bonecrusher whined, leaning dramatically against Long Haul as he contemplated his next move. “Sometimes we don’t see you all day. ‘N you had to cancel last time.” Prowl winced, feeling a twinge of guilt. Instinctively, he widened the gestalt bond, relishing in the warmth of the ghostly brushes from the Constructicons against his spark. Scavenger tightened his arms around his waist, his head coming to rest on top of Prowl’s.

“I try not to,” he said, watching as Long Haul finally made his move, the clink of the metal pieces filling the brief silence that fell. After a moment, he decided to change the topic. “So, why mancala? I didn’t know you even had a set.”

Hook shrugged. “Made it. ‘S better than playing chess or Scrabble again.”

“Chess is fun,” Prowl muttered defensively, nudging Scavenger’s hand over to a different spot when he went to make his move. “I, for one, happen to enjoy strategy games.”

“We know you do,” Mixmaster remarked sullenly with an exasperated look. “You just use your years of command experience to crush everyone.”

“Winning is fun.”

“Yeah, but losing gets real old for us after the first few dozen defeats,” Long Haul remarked as he took his turn again.

“This is a relatively simple game though,” Prowl frowned. “Why not simply count the pieces to maximize your turns? It’s still a strategy game.”

Hook gave him a dry expression. “Perhaps for you, but we won’t count everything to quite the extent you would. Maybe to a lap or two, but that’s about it.”

“Unless you’re Scavenger,” Long Haul said. Bonecrusher nodded sagely.

“Yeah, you suck at this game.”

“Prowl, they’re being mean,” Scavenger whined, hugging him tighter. Prowl blandly patted his arm in a vague attempt at comfort.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Mixmaster muttered. Prowl simply shot him an unamused look before exaggeratedly directing Scavenger’s hand to a different pit, not breaking optic contact with Mixmaster until Scavenger finished his turn.

The game continued in a similar fashion for a few more turns, with smatterings of small talk.

“Rodimus says we’re going to visit the Necroworld in a few days,” Scavenger mentioned.

“Necroworld?” Prowl repeated disbelievingly. Scavenger nodded, accidentally tilting Prowl’s head in odd directions. He worried for a moment that his chevron would poke the Constructicon’s optics out. His EM field was warm, happy at the sudden turn of the game’s events in his favor with Prowl’s direction.

“‘S what he’s calling the planet the Necrobot supposedly works on,” Hook supplied.

“Ah. Yes, Ultra Magnus told me earlier today,” Prowl said. “Coordinates for it were stored on the bullet that Velocity found in Swerve’s arm. I figure that’s where you heard about ‘Necroworld’?”

“Several times,” Mixmaster groaned. “He comes rushing back to the bar after you had to leave a few days ago, talking all about the cool backstory he’s got for his next cocktail.”

“And then Rodimus announced that we’re visiting the Necroworld,” Bonecrusher finished. “Think you were doin’ somethin’ for Magnus when that happened.”

“Megatron said we can be part of the crew shuttling down there,” Long Haul chirped.

Prowl hummed in response. “You five have fun then.”

“You’re not coming?” Scavenger asked, a disappointed tone in his voice. Prowl shook his head.

“I’m staying back with Ultra Magnus - have to make sure nobody crashes the _Lost Light.”_

“We could all have dinner or something together afterward?” Long Haul asked hopefully. The guilt that Prowl had managed to put aside earlier came back full force.

“I’ve already told Nautica that I would meet her for engex after she gets back from Necroworld,” Prowl said lowly, almost shamefully. He picked helplessly at a seam in Scavenger’s arm. He continued a moment later, filling the disappointed silence. “We could have breakfast tomorrow, maybe? Or I could file for a day off with Ultra Magnus, and we could do something then? I…” Prowl paused, hesitating as he wondered how to best phrase his next words. “I understand that I don’t spend as much time with you all as I should.” The Constructicons exchanged a few looks.

“About that,” Mixmaster started hesitantly, glancing to his other gestalt mates awkwardly. “We were thinking about it a bit, and we have an idea.” Long Haul moved the mancala board off to the side, none of the parties involved particularly interested in the game anymore.

“Maybe we could move in together?” Hook proposed, picking up as Mixmaster trailed off. Prowl froze. That… was not where he had expected the conversation to head.

The Constructicons seemed to take his silence as rejection and began trying to retract the offer.

“I mean, if you want to,” Long Haul said quickly.

“Yeah, we don’t want to pressure you into anything,” Scavenger supplied meekly.

“No,” Prowl interrupted softly. “No, it’s fine. I… wouldn’t be opposed.” He had to suppress a small smile at gleeful flares of five EM fields, and the warm, celebratory caresses across the gestalt bond that made his spark pulse happily in response. “I can ask Ultra Magnus about the paperwork required to move into one of the larger quarters. My main question is where you all plan to find a berth large enough for _six_ of us?” The Constructicons immediately started chorusing their reassurances.

“We can make one!”

“We’d make you the comfiest berth you’ve ever had!”

“Yeah, we’re called the Constructicons for a reason - leave it to us!”

Prowl chuckled lightly at their enthusiasm. “I’ll take your word for it then,” he responded easily with a slight smile. Scavenger hugged his waist tighter for a brief moment, lowering his head to nuzzle the side of Prowl’s face affectionately.

“Stay the night?” he asked hesitantly, holding Prowl close as if worried he’d try and leave.

“Of course,” he answered quietly after a beat. All of the Constructicons perked up simultaneously, seeming to instinctively scoot closer to him and Scavenger, filling the space the forgotten game board had once occupied.

Mixmaster quickly followed up his affirmation of staying with them with a blunt, yet effective, “Wanna frag?”

Scavenger vents choked and stuttered for a moment, and Prowl could feel the frame against his heat - either from embarrassment or arousal, but from the teek of his field, Prowl guessed both. Hook dutifully whacked Mixmaster over the helm, while Prowl froze a bit dumbly at the suggestion. The Constructicons had never been quite _that_ forward whenever they tried to initiate something with him previously.

“Only if you want, of course,” Hook amended, keeping his hand over Mixmaster’s mouth.

“If he doesn’t wanna, I’ll frag you,” Bonecrusher offered to the chemist. Prowl shook his head, snapping out of the slight stupor he had fallen into. Something in the back of his processor chirped happily at the idea of interface with his gestalt - and while he wouldn’t admit it (to the Constructicons or anybody else), he had found himself occasionally… _distracted_ the past few days with memory files of the night with his gestalt popping up at inconvenient moments.

“No, I’m rather, let’s say, _amenable_ to the idea,” Prowl offered before Hook could try and throttle Bonecrusher as well. And at that point, it was definitely arousal heating Scavenger’s frame - easily discernible to Prowl by the scorching pelvic plating near his aft. He quickly swung his legs out to either side to straddle Scavenger’s hips, the size difference between the two (despite Scavenger being the smallest of the gestalt, besides Prowl himself) meaning his thighs were spread obscenely wide. Scavenger’s vents choked again, yet he recovered quicker, hands drifting from Prowl’s waist to cup his inner thighs, thumbs pressingly lightly against his valve panel.

The other Constructicons surged forward at the inviting pulse he pushing over the gestalt bond, though Long Haul paused just before his fingers could brush against Prowl’s plating. The excitement paused as the others noticed Long Haul’s sudden reluctance.

“You’re not gonna leave upset again, right?” he asked hesitantly after a second. It took Prowl an embarrassingly long moment before he realized what Long Haul was talking about.

“No,” he reassured. “I won’t. And…” The longer he was with the Constructicons, the more embarrassed and worried he got about things that had never bothered him before. “I apologize for leaving so abruptly, I, uh.” Prowl tapped his fingers against Scavenger’s legs distractedly, all the Constructicons paying close attention to his words. “I was reliving a bad moment, it… wasn’t something any of you did. I…” Primus, he had forgotten how difficult relationships were during the war. “I apologize for not explaining the situation properly at the time, and for not making more of an effort to meet with you sooner to explain what happened.” He cleared his vents awkwardly, firmly fixing his optics on the ground, faceplates heated with embarrassment. “I will endeavor to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

A beat passed. “Promise?” Long Haul asked, slowly reaching out to tilt Prowl’s face up after a moment of consideration. Prowl took a second to notice how clearly his gestalt mate’s seemed to express hopefulness, despite being a visored and face-plated mech. He nodded firmly, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to Long Haul’s face plate. He rested his chevron against the Constructicon’s forehead, making sure to look him in the visor.

“Promise.”

* * *

“Flowers?” Prowl asked skeptically, leaning against the bar as Mixmaster mixed engex. Bonecrusher, in a seat next to him, nodded enthusiastically.

“Fragging _everywhere._ And there wasn’t even variety, just the same, identical blue flower as far as you can see,” he groaned. “Statues, flowers, and maybe, like, three trees.”

“You mentioned the statues earlier. Who were they of?”

“Everybody, far as we could tell,” Mixmaster grunted, sliding the finished drink to Prowl before beginning another. “We went searching a bit, found ones of us. Found one of you.”

“Of me?”

“Lotta flowers,” Bonecrusher added, spreading his arms to exaggerate his point.

“I assumed that was a given?” Prowl responded, raising an optic ridge. “You said that there was nothing but flowers and statues - I thought a lot of flowers being around would be obvious.”

“No, no,” Mixmaster interrupted. “Some statues had like, maybe tops a hundred flowers near them, yours had like, thousands.”

“Hundreds of thousands.”

“Millions,” Mixmaster amended, sliding the second drink over to Prowl.

“Huh,” the black and white mech answered simply. “Well, you can tell me more about it tomorrow morning, then.” He began to push himself away from the counter but hadn’t moved far at all when Mixmaster quickly leaned over the bar, pressing his lips to Prowl’s.

“Oi!” Swerve called from the other end of the bar, the sudden interruption causing Prowl to jerk away and snap his head in the stout bartender’s direction. “Mix, I get that you have the hots for the Command Staff, but keep your ‘facing life _off-shift.”_

“Frag you!” Mixmaster shouted back, slamming his fist on the counter. “I can ‘face my gestalt whenever I want.” Prowl looked at him unamusedly.

“Try interfacing with me in a public area, and I will ensure that you are physically incapable of interfacing with anyone ever again,” he told the Constructicon ominously.

Bonecrusher and Swerve _cackled._ Mixmaster pouted and slinked away to sulk in peace.

“Applies to you as well,” Prowl told Bonecrusher. The Constructicon chuckled for a few seconds longers.

“Aw, but I’m not on shift - one kiss?” he asked. “C’mon,” he continued to prompt, making exaggerated kissy lips at his gestalt mate. Prowl cycled his optics dramatically and leaned over to give Bonecrusher a small peck.

The bulldozer quickly swept the black and white mech into a low dip, pressing a slightly shocked Prowl into a deeper kiss as mecha around the bar hooted and hollered. After a few moments, Bonecrusher eased him up, leaving a slightly shell-shocked mech standing in his wake.

After a second, Prowl suddenly snapped back to his senses, snatching up the drinks Mixmaster had left on the counter, hurrying away with a rushed, “See you tomorrow,” doorwings held high in an embarrassed arc.

Sliding into a booth across from Nautica, Prowl scowled as he noticed the satisfied smirk on her face. “What?” he asked her grouchily.

“Oh, nothing,” she responded smoothly. “Just know that image capture is going on the album.”

“Primus, you have an album?” She nodded.

“Don’t worry, it’s all very sweet. I’ll give you a copy whenever you conjunx the Constructicons.”

Prowl groaned. “Can we talk about literally anything else right now?”

“Of course,” she chirped happily, leaning across the table to whisper conspiratorially. “Since the Constructicons didn’t split you in half with their spikes, you gotta tell me what it was like.”

_“Nautica.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonecrusher is a jock with a secret flair for theatre prove me wrong.
> 
> this chapter was unexpectedly hard for me to write and it's not even as long as the last six have been but i hope you liked it anyway
> 
> aNYWAY - that Constructicon focused miniseries that I mentioned? If I stay on top of this well enough, I hope to start uploading that around chapter 12 or 13. Chapters won't be quite as long as is average for this fic so far, but I hope it's found enjoyable nonetheless!
> 
> welp that's all I have to say
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl has a checkup with Velocity in the medbay, misses more events, and a message gets through three weeks too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively known as *screeching into the void that is self-indulgent hell*
> 
> if you've figured out that this fic is just me throwing a really self-indulgent story onto a doc and then uploading it for the unsuspecting masses who probably didn't sign up for this amount of tonal dissonance and weird pacing, then you'd be correct.

Velocity frowned as she peered into Prowl’s leg, making a disgruntled noise before pulling her hands out and reattaching his outer plating.

“You’re too heavy for your struts to support you properly,” she concluded, picking up a nearby datapad and entered a few lines of information as she spoke. “Whoever reformatted you did a poor job - they clearly didn’t account for the effect your added weight would have on your internal structures. The struts in your legs and your chassis have hairline fractures, and all of your joints from your hips down are grinding and getting damaged.” She tutted at him, picking up his arm and activating a magnifying interface in front of her optics. Prowl simply watched as the medic worked herself into a fit at his shoddy bodywork. “And your arms are having difficulty too - your shoulders aren’t designed to carry this kind of weight for extended periods of time. Your cables are gonna snap and your joints will dislocate, and don’t even get me _started_ on the problems with your doorwings.” She let him drop his arm with an agitated huff.

“My reformat wasn’t exactly intended for long-term use,” Prowl told her, amused as she fluffed her plating angrily. Velocity looked almost like an annoyed petrorabbit.

“That’s pretty clear,” she sighed, seeming to forcefully leave her anger behind, plating settling back into a more neutral configuration. “I’ll contact you later to schedule a surgery to reinforce your frame, but once we’re finished with everything else here I’ll attach some temporary braces to prevent you from damaging yourself further until then.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Prowl responded simply, letting his optics wander the medbay as Velocity marked a few things on her datapad. His sight eventually settled on Tailgate, who had yet to emerge from stasis after… Prowl still wasn’t exactly sure _what_ had happened, but it was certainly the result of some complicated scheme that had him and Ultra Magnus throwing Getaway and Atomizer in the high-security cells down in the brig. He spared a lingering glance to the slight vial of innermost energon set on the side table, but let his gaze return to Velocity as she set down the datapad in exchange for a scanner.

“Just a few spark scans and then we can move on,” the medic said as she pressed the device against Prowl’s chest plates. “Everything feels good?” she asked after a few seconds.

“Tingles, but apart from that nothing unusual,” he answered simply. Velocity hummed, tapping her fingers distractedly against the device as she waited for it to finish scanning. “Tailgate,” he started to ask a moment later, gesturing to the unconscious bot, “how is he?”

“Everything is fine, I just can’t determine why he won’t emerge from stasis,” she answered. “I’m still trying to identify what that energy wave he released was caused by, or what it did, but his spark readings were low when he came in, and are still stabilizing though within in a safe range. I think there’s a connection between them there somewhere - ah!” Velocity cut herself off as the device finished scanning, with a short, high ping alerting them of its completion. She glanced over the results, and a frown spread across her face the longer she looked at it.

“What’s wrong?” Prowl asked as she held her datapad up, seeming to compare the readings against something on his medical file. Velocity made a discontented noise, briefly turning to press her hand against his chassis for a moment before saying anything.

“Your chassis is far warmer than it should be, and your spark energy levels are significantly elevated from your baseline,” she said, “and could indicate any number of issues with either your spark crystal or casing.” Prowl arched an optic ridge as she talked, effectively masking the slight twinge of worry that her words generated.

“Nothing life-threatening, I would hope?” he asked in response. Velocity shook her head.

“Not much, but it’s significantly more likely just to be a minor problem. Before I try any invasive scans, could you answer a few questions?”

Prowl shrugged indifferently as Velocity pulled up a stool to sit on. “Sure.”

“First - have you spark merged recently?” Prowl’s vents stuttered.

“Your tact is astounding,” he muttered dryly. “Yes, I have.” She marked something on her datapad.

“How often?” And if that wasn’t just basically asking how often the Constructicons managed to tempt him to retire to their quarters early so they could frag his brain module out.

“About once every two or three days,” he answered as professionally as he could.

“And for how long with this regularity?” Primus, if it wasn’t a medical situation he would have assumed that Nautica had roped Velocity into her nosiness of his personal life somehow.

“A little more than two months.”

“Interface?” Prowl was fine with dying of some spark-related disease.

“Same answers as before.”

“Do you feel any sort of pain during either activity?”

“No.” Velocity made a few more notes on her datapad.

“Any problems occur when refueling? Pain, purging, discomfort in your tank, etcetera?”

“No.”

“Engex, or any other type of recreational substances?” Prowl frowned as he thought back.

“Engex has started to settle uncomfortably in my tank - much more than a glass or two, and I feel bloated.” She nodded, making a few more notes.

“Alright, that narrows down quite a few of the possibilities - now if you’ll just give me a second…” She trailed off as she stood up, walking away and returned rolling over curtained frames, quickly setting them around the berth he was settled upon in a sort of makeshift examination room. Velocity gave them a quick scrutinizing glance before returning to sit on the stool in front of him.

“I have a few theories as to what could be happening, but I do need you to open your chest plates so I can examine your spark chamber.” Prowl nodded silently, issuing the command to his frame. He vaguely wondered in the back of his mind, as he listened to his chassis click and split apart, how a regular medical checkup had so quickly descended into him having his _spark_ examined.

“Don’t worry,” Velocity reassured him as blue pulsating light lit up her faceplates, leaning slightly closer to examine his internals. “This shouldn’t take more than a few -” She suddenly cut herself off, optics flaring in surprise. She stared intently at Prowl’s spark, and any anxiety he might have had about that situation wasn’t exactly put to rest by the way she began to worry her lip.

“I’m not actually going to die, am I?” he asked after a few more moments of staring. Velocity snapped out of her reverie, stepping back.

“No, no, no,” she told him quickly, waving her hands in a negative, though still not looking away from his bared spark. “Nothing like that, it’s just - uh.” She gestured meaninglessly, opening and closing her mouth several times.

“What?” he asked impatiently. Velocity suddenly started searching through the implements she had gathered on the cart that held everything else for his checkup-turned-spark-exam, emerging with a metallic tray, and held it in front of her like a shield. Prowl could see the blurry, dull reflection of the light of his spark in its matte finish.

“Can you see that?” she asked him, looking as if she hoped she wouldn’t have to explain anything. Prowl scowled at her indirectness.

“It’s not polished anywhere near enough to be a mirror, so _no,_ I _can’t,_ so if you would just _get to the point?”_ he growled, beginning to get fed up with her beating around the issue. Velocity groaned, tossing the tray back onto the cart with a loud clatter, slouching back onto her stool. Prowl closed his chest plates, the prolonged exposure seeming to no longer serve a purpose.

“How do I put this gently?” she asked herself quietly, running a hand down her face.

“Just _tell me.”_ Velocity sighed.

“You’re sparked.”

Prowl froze.

Sparked.

 _He_ was sparked.

The _Constructicons_ had sparked _him._

Velocity looked at him in concern as he locked up, plating snapping against his protoform.

“You’re sure?” he asked softly after a few more moments, grateful when Velocity didn’t comment on the slight static that laced his voice.

“Yes,” she answered simply, but to Prowl she might as well have cut off a limb. He slouched, optics dimming as he processed the information.

Frag it, he always had a contingency plan for every possibility, but this… He had never had a reason to be worried about getting sparked before, and it had somehow never crossed his mind once he had started interfacing with the Constructicons, and he didn’t know what to do. He hated the helpless feeling that wrapped around his mind.

Sparking generally took tremendous effort, and great amounts of spark energy from both parties to achieve, but with six contributing mechs… Primus dammit, Prowl _should have known that this was going to happen._

“... Where do you want to go from here?” Velocity asked after a few minutes. Prowl tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, feeling prepared to start asking Primus why _him._

“Where can I go from here?” he shot back a moment later. “You’re the doctor, why don’t you tell me my options?” His remark contained none of it’s usual bite, and he knew it, and he couldn’t look at Velocity because the pity and sympathy dripping from her EM field was _palpable._ Prowl was relieved when her concerned gaze shifted from him back down to her datapad, and he could hear the taps of her entering information.

“You have two main options going forward,” she started slowly. “You can either keep the spark, or you can terminate.” Prowl paused a beat before responding, considering his choices.

“If I choose to keep it - what would that look like?”

“You could carry the spark to term, keeping the process fully within your frame, using your gestation chamber to develop the protoform, and have a natural emergence - I would currently estimate that in a bit over a years time, give or take a few months. Alternatively, I could flush and lock your gestation chamber, and I build the protoform and frame manually. We would simply transfer the spark from your spark chamber to the protoform's around when it would normally drop to the gestation tank and attach itself to its frame.” Prowl nodded listlessly as she finished her description.

“And if I choose to terminate?”

“I flush your chamber of the developing protoform, deactivate your carrying protocols, and a short electric shock will cause the spark to be reabsorbed.”

After a few more moments of silence, neither really sure what to say, Velocity stood up and began to move the curtains back to the corner from which she had drawn them, while Prowl ruthlessly attempted to suppress any sort of reaction for the situation because _this could not be happening._

He wasn’t going to say that he was too young to be a carrier - he was well over four-million years old, his rights to use a line like that expired at least half-way through the war.

He also couldn’t say that it was a matter of time or scheduling - he unfortunately masterful at bending his work shifts to his will, coming from years of experience of _making_ the work shifts. It wasn’t to discount that there would also be _five_ other co-creators to manage a bitlet.

Oh, Primus, what would the _Constructicons_ think? He had absolutely no idea how they would feel if he decided to terminate or keep it, or how they felt about sparklings in general. It wasn’t exactly a conversation one had unless they were actually _planning to have one._

… Did he himself even want it?

Prowl had never had a reason to think he would be able to settle down and have a conjunx or sparkmate, or any sort of long term, stable relationship, let alone _sparklings._ Well, there was Chromedome, which… was never exactly or meant to last any length of time, to begin with, but that didn’t stop Prowl from _thinking,_ but hadn’t lasted long enough for him to hope for anything longer than a few cycles into the future. There was also Mesothulas, which was… extremely _one-sided,_ by the end of it, and he wasn’t exactly sure that the result of _that_ situation was ideal in way, shape or form. He had decided with ~~Ostaros~~ _Springer_ that he wasn’t suited to raise _anybody._

Prowl stood by that position, Springer probably… well, _definitely_ would have been a mess of problems if he had chosen to raise the… he still wasn’t exactly sure what Mesothulas had done to create the mech. It wasn’t to say that Springer hadn’t turned out as a mess of problems anyway _(everybody_ in the war was a problematic mess by the end of it), it was just… less severe than if he himself had chosen to be the guardian of the younger mech.

At least this time, he had a choice in the creation of the spark before deciding to pawn it off to somebody better able to take care of it then he was (actually, the only ones on the _Lost Light_ who wouldn’t end up killing a sparkling would be either Velocity or Rung, but they were both busy being the only fully licensed professionals for either of their fields on board).

He didn’t have to watch a life that was the product of his own follies be given to someone more responsible than he was again. He could terminate.

Zap. A quick reabsorption and it would be like nothing ever happened.

_But it d-_

_Clank!_

Prowl was snapped out of his thoughts as Velocity returned, setting a pile of odd frame looking structures on the cart. She looked at him softly, though strangely tired - a strange switch from the energetic anger that had animated her being not long before.

“Lie back,” she directed, helping him maneuver to lie prone on the medical berth. “I figured we could talk shop while I attach these supports to your struts.” She held up one of the supports in question, while seamlessly deactivating his sensor network. “Any immediate questions or concerns you have?” she asked as she removed the plating to leg she had been seething at not much earlier.

“How long before it’s too late for termination?”

“Going from what you gave me, and what I saw in your chamber, I’d place your timeframe conservatively at about six months before it would start requiring invasive surgery to remove the frame, but risk factors for reabsorption would increase exponentially in about four or five months. Call it four to be safe.”

“Risk factors?”

“Smaller ones that you should have to worry much about would simply be a case of excess charge, slight circuit shock, and quite possibly fatigue - any of those would just get you put on light duty for a few weeks.”

“And the bigger risks?” Prowl asked worriedly.

“The one I would be most concerned about with you is spark backlash - the more energy the newspark absorbs, the higher the risk. We’d most likely need to put you on spark support for at least several days, but in the worst case, the backlash could cause spark failure. There’s a whole other set of problems to unpack there, but do you see what I’m worried about there?”

Prowl nodded. “I could see how that could end up being problematic, especially with a gestalt bond.” Velocity nodded in response as she moved up to reinforce his shoulder joints.

“Exactly. Also, until you make your decision, I _highly_ recommend cutting back on engex - that bloated feeling you mentioned? Your frame is absorbing any energy it can find, and engex has it in abundance. While that’s not strictly a _bad_ thing, too much and it could trigger reabsorption - and without deactivating your carrier protocols first could cause some… _problems,_ to put it lightly.”

“Anything else to watch for?” Velocity paused a moment to consider his question before shaking her head, replacing the plating on his shoulders and began to boot his sensor net back up.

“Just stay away from circuit boosters, or Syk, or anything like that, and you should be fine.” Prowl nodded his understanding, blinking as Velocity tapped him to sit up. “Up you get, you’re finished.” He smiled wryly.

“That was quick.” She shrugged in response.

“It’s not like I was trying to do something to your sensor net, or patch up something permanently or something.”

“Right,” he answered as if it was obvious. “So within four months?” he asked to ensure that he had heard correctly, although he was already setting internal reminders on his chronometer.

“Yup. I’ll also contact you later about setting up an appointment to fix your struts, and I’ll try and compile any information I can find about carrying for you within a week in case if you need anything clarified.” Prowl nodded and paused a second before asking his next question.

“If I choose to terminate, will anybody know?” Velocity studied him for a long moment.

“No. This will stay between you and me - patient confidentiality and all that. Files locked with the CMO’s code and everything. I won’t tell anybody unless you say it’s alright. Short of a medical emergency tied to your situation, not a word leaves my mouth.”

Prowl found Velocity’s words much more reassuring than he had expected.

“I do encourage you to talk this over with somebody,” he scowled, “but going by the look on your face, that’s not going to happen.” Velocity clasped one of his hands between her own. “I’ll ask you to consider it, but I’m not going to force you to do anything. I’m on your side Prowl. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll support it. Just please take care of yourself, and don’t lock everybody out.”

Prowl looked at Velocity, who was staring at him with a supernatural amount of sincerity and understanding. After a long moment, he nodded jerkily, not trusting himself to say anything - what he would say (destructive, too honest, off-putting, or whatever amount of responses he could think of), he didn’t know anyway.

Four months.

He had four months to decide.

Plenty of time.

What could happen in four months?

* * *

_“Prowl wants to be buried near the Crystal Gardens of Petrex.”_

_“Or at least, wherever they used to be.”_

_“He can’t give his last words.”_

_“Not on film, at least.”_

_“‘Fore he went out, he said he’s sorry.”_

_“Not sure what for, but… this broadcast is for last words.”_

_“We wanna be buried with him.”_

_“Intermutual funeral - all six of us at the same time.”_

_“... Remove our brands before we’re buried.”_

_“Decepticon brands, that is.”_

_“Don’t replace them with Autobot brands or anything, just take ‘em off.”_

_“Don’t wanna wear the same brand as the aft who kills us all.”_

_“Don’t wanna be Autobots either.”_

_“Basically make sure we get passed on factionless.”_

_“Just wanna enter the Afterspark as us.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i'm back, and yes i'm still determinedly skipping events i don't want to write why do you ask
> 
> I would get into specifics of why this took so long to update, but it feels like a bunch of excuses so here just enjoy this chapter. Anyway, I'm a bit busier than I used to be, so instead of this being updated on a weekly basis, chapters will just now go up whenever I have them done. The Constructicon mini-series is still on track, so don't worry about that - updates just won't be as frequent as they used to be.
> 
> Also, since I got one after the last chapter, people are more than welcome to leave any questions or comments you might have on my tumblr (anon is on) - I do check it more often, so I would reply faster to your comment as well, since I try to acknowledge and thank everybody who leaves reviews on this fic - side note on that: I'm just absolutely blown away that people are actually enjoying this and responding positively to what I write, so thank all of you for that, everybody who leaves comments, kudos, subscribes, or just reads this fic, thank you so so much.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is indecisive, Velocity tells him to talk to the Constructicons, and then things begin to go very wrong, very fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all downhill from here baby prepare yourself

_Education:_

_No formal educational institution upon the_ Lost Light. _Possibly substitute a school education with varying tutors._

_Mathematics and Sciences - Nautica or Perceptor, definitely not Brainstorm_

_History and Culture - ~~Rewind~~ Cyclonus _

_Reading and Writing - ~~Ultra Mag~~ ~~Megat~~ Skids or Nautica _

Prowl paused and scanned what he had just written, before growling lowly to himself and angrily scribbling all the words out, slamming the stylus onto the table. He threw the datapad he was working upon down to join the writing utensil, knocking a few other datapads onto the floor. He slumped back against the couch behind him and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling with a long-suffering look.

Frag it, why was he even considering the idea? A sparkling on the _Lost Light_ of all places was just asking for a disaster to occur amongst all the other disasters that happened on or off-board anyway. Life or death situations happening at least bi-monthly (if you averaged it out and discounted the fact that four or five tended to happen within a week and then silence for months afterward), and engaged in a battle against some rogue Decepticon splinter faction or saving an organic world once every two weeks at the least.

It wasn’t like he could ask anybody else for their opinion, either - he’d probably just end up doing the opposite of what they said just to prove they were wrong. 

He groped blindly for one of the datapads Velocity had given him, raising it high so that he could read it without moving his head any and flicked the screen on, powering up right on the sentence where he had left off earlier that day.

_By the beginning of the third quartex of carrying (assuming the progenitors are bonded), the sire(s) will begin to feel echoes of the newspark’s presence through the carrier’s side of a bond. More visual and outward symptoms of carrying (ie warped abdominal plating, newspark noticeably circling carriers spark, increased fuel consumption, etc.) begin to appear to the untrained optic by the end of the third quartex. Behavioral symptoms (ie creatorial tendencies, ‘nesting’, reluctance to be separated from sire(s), etc.) also begin to show prominently around the end of the third quartex, in preparation for the spark drop and decrease of energy when approaching the emergence date at the end of the fourth quartex. When the -_

Prowl tossed the datapad back onto the table, not enjoying the twisting feeling that emerged in his tanks at the thought of going through an emergence. The knots in his tanks swiftly developed into the feeling of his root internals cramping painfully. He whined and clumsily dragged himself up onto the couch, tiredly retrieving a heating pad Velocity had given him before curling up.

 _“‘It’s just the movement of nanites in your gestation chamber,’_ she said. _‘Shouldn’t hurt that much,’_ she said,” Prowl muttered mockingly to himself, shifting to hug one of the pillows that Scavenger had insisted on decorating the furniture with, carefully keeping the heating pad pressed to lower abdomen. _“‘Won’t impair you,’_ she said.”

He flinched as a particularly savage pang shot through his sensor net, curling even tighter into himself and offlining his optics. He sent a quick data burst to lock all the assorted datapads that had accumulated around him, and wirelessly lowered the lights without moving from his spot. Settling into recharge right there on the couch seemed like an incredible idea. Actually moving to the berth seemed like too much of a hassle. The Constructicons could just move him whenever they got -

“Prowl!” Mixmaster cheered as the door to their quarters slammed open. 

\- back

Prowl powered his optics back up, turning his head to see the Constructicons paused guiltily in the doorway, clearly having realized that they should have perhaps been a bit more subtle.

“You’re back early,” he commented, voice muffled by the large pillow that he continued to hold close to his body. Tension sinking out of their frames when they realized that he wasn’t annoyed with them for being disruptive, they continued to flow into the room.

“Yeah,” Bonecrusher commented, plopping himself into one of the armchairs they had managed to fit into their cramped sort-of living area for their quarters, and kicked his pedes up onto the low table situated in the center of the furniture circle. “Megatron punched Ultra Magnus and ended class early.”

“Feet off the table,” Prowl directed. He pushed the pillow under his chin to speak clearer as his other gestalt-mates settled into their own seats and - wait. His doorwings suddenly flared in alarm. “Megatron punched Ultra Magnus?”

“Well, no, it was Minimus actually, but yeah,” Long Haul amended. “Knocked him out cold.” Prowl started to push himself up - that was _worse._

“Relax,” Hook soothed nonchalantly. “I checked him out while everyone waited for Velocity, he’s gonna be fine.” After a moment, Prowl lowered himself back down to sink into the couch. He’d probably hear all about it tomorrow anyway - best to know ahead of time, he supposed.

“You should come to class with us sometime,” Scavenger offered. “It’s really interesting.”

Prowl snorted into his cushion. “No, I’m good where I am.”

“Why not,” Scavenger whined sadly. “I think you’d enjoy it.”

_Blunt force trauma is a leading cause in accidental reabsorb-_

“Don’t feel like getting punched,” he shrugged.

“It’s not like Megatron goes around punching _everybody,”_ Mixmaster said.

“And what a shift in behavior that is,” Prowl snapped right back.

“We wouldn’t let him,” Bonecrusher declared, _feet still on the table._ The rest of the Constructicons nodded sagely.

“You can’t always be around to protect me.”

“Aw, who are you kidding, Prowl?” Long Haul teased. “We’ll always be around for you.”

* * *

“You should talk to them,” Velocity suddenly offered up as she readjusted the supports on Prowl’s legs. He hummed noncommittally. She stopped to throw him an unimpressed look. “I’m serious. It’s inevitable that they’re going to find out no matter what happens - you have to combine, a spark merge goes too deep, etcetera, etcetera. They’ll find out.”

“And you have a guide for how to casually bring up the fact that I’m sparked, O’ Wise One?” Prowl snapped. “‘Hey, I know that we’re in life or death situations every other week and everybody on this ship is a dysfunctional idiot and we’re more likely to get brutally murdered than see this moronic trip through to the end, but surprise! You’re all sires!’” Velocity frowned.

“Well, certainly not like that,” she tutted. “Just… say you have something to tell them, _tell them,_ in plain, simple words, and have a conversation about what you’re ready for in your relationship.”

“I’ll tell them when the right moment happens.” She sighed, rubbing her helm tiredly.

“Never took you for someone who ‘waited for the right moment’,” she told him dryly. “The right moment’s never going to happen. I hope you realize that.”

Prowl didn’t respond, and the rest of the appointment continued in silence.

“I’m going to try to clear some appointments and move the surgery for your struts up,” Velocity told him as he was getting ready to leave. “I don’t think your frame can handle much more, even with the support scaffolding - especially if you keep going into every battle to liberate some such world or another whenever we get a distress call.”

“Rodimus is a bleeding spark,” Prowl responded offhandedly.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Velocity said as she moved a few choice tools to her subspace. “Sorry, I’ve got to go check on Megatron - he missed his appointment yesterday and I’m concerned - he’s never even been late to one.”

He hummed disinterestedly. “Have fun with that,” he offered dryly.

“Yeah,” Velocity muttered. “But Prowl?” she asked just before they parted ways in the entrance of the medbay. He turned to her, raising an optic ridge in question. “Just try and tell them while you can still do so on your own terms. It sucks when you want to tell someone something and by the time you’re ready, it’s too late.” She patted his arm before turning and walking away. “Take my word for it,” she called back over her shoulder.

Prowl stared after her for a moment longer before shaking his head and departing.

* * *

“We’re going on a day trip! _Day trip!_ We’re going on a day trip! _Day trip!”_ Whirl cheered as he twisted himself through odd gymnastics in the crowded space upon the shuttle, barely avoiding knocking Brainstorm from where he was sitting (upside down) on the ceiling. _“Day_ trip, _day_ trip, _day_ trip, _day_ trip!”

“Are you always this _excitable?”_ Velocity asked tiredly.

“Nope!” Whirl whooped. “Sometimes I’m extremely violent. Sometimes I’m a bit of both.” Bonecrusher cackled at the response and joined Whirl in his chanting, the grating and repeating cry of, _“Day_ trip, _day_ trip, _day_ trip, _day_ trip!” resounding throughout the shuttle.

Prowl rubbed his chevron tiredly, his only sense of peace coming from seeing even the ever-chatty Swerve covering his audials in annoyance within his peripheral vision.

“If Primus strikes me down now, it won’t be soon enough,” he muttered under his breath.

“It’s not that bad,” Rung offered with a strained smile. Prowl cycled his optics.

“Your smile is forced, stop pretending that they aren’t annoying as all Pit.”

A beat. “It can begin to grate somewhat on one’s nerves.” And that was probably the best he was gonna get in terms of an agitated reaction from the therapist, and let the conversation drop.

Hook was with Velocity, looking equally exasperated by Whirl and Bonecrusher’s antics. Long Haul and Scavenger were painting more flowers on Ten (where the trend had picked up, Prowl was still uncertain). Mixmaster was sitting next to Swerve, laughing at the bartenders suffering.

All gestalt mates accounted were for because Prowl wouldn’t put it past any of them to somehow get ejected from the shuttle without any of them noticing.

_VOP!_

The lights flickered out, and a silence fell over the cabin.

“Ten?”

“Okay, no one panic. Everyone keep _super-calm.”_

“No one’s panicking, Rodimus.”

“I’m panicking a little bit.”

“You see, Ravage? _Swerve’s_ panicking.”

“Only a little bit.”

“Because you’re a total wuss.”

“Shut it, Mixmaster.”

“I don’t see the problem. It’s dark and I’m alive. I mean _we’re_ alive.”

“Well, I’m sorry is not all of us are catlike and _unpanickable.”_

“Not a word.”

“Jeez, Magnus. Time and place.”

“No, no, no, you can’t have people throwing _made up words_ around willy-nilly. There are impressionable ‘bots,” a brief, barely-there pause, “and ‘cons on board.”

“Thanks for the representation for Scavenger, Mags.”

“Shut up, Long Haul, you grabbed my hand first!”

“Magnus is right. Making up words leads to criminanarchy and pandebordination.”

“Brainstorm! One more and you’re on _remand.”_

“Can we _please_ focus?”

“Too dark, Megs. But let me press _this, this_ and _this,_ and -” everything flickered back to life. “- Boom! Lights!”

“Look at that: _no stars,”_ Rewind remarked in awe from where he knelt on one of the viewports.

“How come?” Tailgate asked from where he stood upon a crate next to the archivist. “Are we in between galaxies? Is that even how space works?”

“Don’t tell me people are gonna start disappearing again,” Nautica lamented. “That was a super weird experience, and one time was more than enough.”

“Well considering that everybody who was here, to begin with, is still present, I think your fears can be safely dissuaded,” Prowl offered blandly. “At least this time we’d know the pattern from the beginning.”

“Definitely less sexual tension between you and the Constructicons as well.”

“Really, Nautica?”

“Or maybe there’s more, now that they know you’re down to get freaky in berth.”

“... You’ll never stop pestering me about this, will you?”

“It’s my eternal source of entertainment.”

“Primus, you’re annoying.”

“Yet here you are, continuing to indulge me.”

“Maybe I’ll put a bounty on your head instead of Brainstorm’s.”

“What this about putting a bounty on me?” the scientist in question asked, suddenly swinging from the ceiling to hang in front of them.

“My everlasting bloodthirst and rapidly shrinking patience will end in me murdering everybody on the _Lost Light,_ beginning with you,” Prowl told him, looking the flyer dead in the optics.

A moment passed. “You’re not serious, are you?” He made no response.

_VOP!_

Everyone flinched as the shuttle teleported again, bright light filtering in through the viewports.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

They all turned to see Rodimus, looking at Megatron with a severely unimpressed expression.

“That’s a _sarcastic_ round of applause,” Rodimus told the gray mech dryly.

“Thank you, Rodimus. Why don’t you do something useful with your hands and either _stuff them in your mouth…”_ Megatron took a calming vent. “...or open the doors.”

As Prowl lined up by the opening door with the Constructicons, he could hear Brainstorm whisper to Nautica behind him, “If I disappear, assume I’m dead and take vengeance in my name.”

He allowed himself a small smirk over his shoulder in response, enjoying the way Brainstorm looked at him and froze like a deer in the headlights, before turning back and heading down the ramp with the Constructicons chattering excitedly around him about their last visit.

“So this is the Necroworld, then?” he asked them, striding a few paces from the shuttle and stopping to turn and look at the scenery. That… was certainly a lot of flowers.

“Yup!” Scavenger chirped, bouncing up to stand next to him. “What’d we tell you, flowers everywhere, huh?” Prowl hummed in agreement, allowing his EM field to intertwine with Scavenger’s as he stared out at the sea of blue.

“I thought you were all exaggerating, but -”

**_BA-KOOOM_ **

An explosion lit up the blue area in a blaze of orange, tossing Prowl into the air as a sharp burning pain shot through his back. He landed on the ground roughly, attempting to ignore the onslaught of error messages as they assaulted his HUD.

“What just happened?” Rodimus called out. Prowl shakily pushed himself to his feet, gratefully accepting when Bonecrusher appeared and offered him a hand.

“Over there -” Ultra Magnus called, and he twisted to see what the SIC was pointing at, even as Bonecrusher tucked him closer to his bulky frame and began pulling him back towards the shuttle, “- attack craft! Ten - no, twelve of them!”

“That’s an entire squadron!” Rodimus shouted in alarm as everyone began scrambling to retreat. “Back to the RodPod, everyone - we’re leaving!” And nobody raised any objections to the order as they all raced back, Prowl almost dragged as Bonecrusher and Hook grabbed his hands and pulled him along with them. “We’ll teleport back to the _Lost Light_ and rethink our strategy!”

“We had a _strategy?!”_ Velocity cried.

“Just _run,_ people!” Chromedome snapped.

Prowl quickly found himself surrounded by a circle of fretting Constructicons once they were back on the RodPod, the ship taking off before they had even raised the ramp.

_Error: left Sensory Panel sensors disconnected_

_Error: all energon lines in left Sensory Panel severed_

_Error: open energon lines at left Sensory Panel joints._

_Error: right Sensory Panel surface sensors damaged_

_Error: surface energon lines in right Sensory Panel open_

_Error: excessive pressure on internal mechanics_

_Error: gyroscopic measurements - Error: heightened -_

_Error - Error - Error - Error_

Prowl shrieked in surprise as the shuttle began to roll, everyone not strapped into a seat (to say, most of the shuttle) getting tossed around the cabin. He felt his vents hitch painfully as someone’s landing pinned his right doorwing to the wall of the shuttle.

“Has anyone got _any_ idea who’s attacking us?” Chromedome called out.

“I’m making a list of suspects,” Rewind answered, voice sounding calmly strained. “I’m on ‘E’.”

“‘Everyone we’ve ever met.’” Swerve shouted back in response, a not subtle edge of panic in his voice. “There. You’re welcome.” Prowl wasn’t about to say the bartender was wrong, exactly.

“Frag it all, this is how we die,” Long Haul whimpered. “Not in some big glorious battle, or feeling happy and fulfilled in life, but by a stupid surprise attack.”

“Literally _shut up,”_ Mixmaster snapped. “We’re not dying - not here, not now.”

**_KROOM_ **

Half the shuttle exploded, sending the Rod Pod careening into the ground.

_CRUMMP_

His frame burned, and everything was ringing. Someone _(Mixmaster,_ he could tell by his EM field) picked him up and began running. Prowl felt his vents stutter and cough, and he dug his fingers into transformation seams, gripping and holding tightly as the rattle with each step sent a new wave of agony ripping through his being.

 _ERROR - ERROR - ERROR - ERROR -_ **_ERROR - ERROR - ERROR - ERROR - ERRORERRORERRORERRORERROR_ **

Everything went numb as somebody disabled his pain receptors.

“Prowl? Prowl, can you hear me?” _Velocity._ He tightened his fingers and managed to respond with a weak whine through his vocalizer. After a moment of attempting to reboot his vocal components, he abandoned the effort and sent Velocity a short ping instead. “Okay, you’re conscious and aware - good, that’s good. Can you forward any error messages you have?”

Prowl simply bundled all his notifications from the previous fifteen minutes and sent the packet to the medic on a data burst. Velocity hissed as she reviewed them, releasing a few choice curses as she read.

“You’ve shattered the struts in your legs, and it’s a miracle that your spinal struts are still holding it together. Left doorwing is torn clean off, and the right one has some deep lacerations.”

 _Safety/reassurance/caring_ washed over the bond, and Prowl latched onto the feeling as a focal point instead of concentrating on the wet, sticky feeling of energon running down his back.

“Alright, I’m going to need you to focus on something while I work - here, look,” Velocity offered, briefly stepping into his field of vision from where his head rested weakly on Mixmaster’s shoulder. He looked up at her with dim optics. “Slag,” she muttered, looking closer at his face. “Left optic’s blown out too,” that probably explained why everything seemed so skewed. “Chevron’s wrecked, but that’s cosmetic and we can worry about it later. But here,” she said, directing his gaze to a static-y screen not too far in front of them (at least, he thought. Depth perception was out the window). “Rodimus is calling up the _Lost Light._ Focus on the conversation as much as you can. If you can’t, talk to Mixmaster. Keep yourself distracted - it’s too dangerous right now to actually put you under. Understand?” He nodded weakly.

_Kzzzk_

The screen crackled to life, and an image began to slowly take shape and Velocity pulled at a wire in his back and - _stay focused._

“Blaster, is that you?” Rodimus asked, approaching the console. “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear Rodimus.”

“Is that you? You sound different. Can you see us?”

“Give me a moment to filter the signal and…” _Oh. Oh no._ Prowl would have little difficulty focusing on the conversation now. “... There we go!”

_“Getaway!?”_

“You’ve not forgotten about me, then,” the aforementioned ‘bot said bitterly, crossing his arms. “Hey, how’s the _journey into mystery?_ Say hello to the Necrobot for me!” he said, leaning in and waving into the camera mockingly.

“Look, I don’t know how you got out of your _cell,_ or how you know we’re here, but we need a _pickup._ Now.” Rodimus commanded tiredly, frame hunching over in exasperation.

“Hmm.”

“Look, if you’re worried about us _locking you up again,_ fine, we can discuss it - _after_ we’re back.”

Getaway laughed as if Rodimus had told a joke. “You think I’m worried about being locked up?”

“Of _course_ not! You’re _unimprisonable!_ No cell can contain you! We lock you up, you escape!” Rodimus responded caustically. _“We get it.”_

“Do you?” Getaway asked, demeanor changing as he straightened and a shadow fell across his face. “Do you _really?_ You removed my _hands,_ Rodimus. _And_ my feet. You took away my _T-cog._ You sawed off my _mouth._ You put my spark in a _trembler cage_ so sensitive I couldn’t _shift my weight_ without risking _electrocution,”_ he hissed venomously. “‘Escape’? I didn’t ‘escape.’ There’s no _way_ I could’ve ‘escaped.’ _No one_ could’ve ‘escaped.’ I was _released.”_ The air around Getaway changed to one of decisive smugness. “And do you know who let me out?” he asked teasingly, before stepping aside and revealing with a dramatic wave of his arm, _“Everyone.”_

Prowl could feel that Velocity had stopped her work, and was paying attention to the exchange now taking place before them if the shocked flare of her field was anything to go by.

Megatron lumbered past, quietly asking Rodimus a question, who responded at full volume, a snappish and annoyed tone in his voice. _“Mutiny._ That’s what.”

“Welcome to the _New War,_ ‘Captains,’” Getaway said grimly once Megatron appeared. _”All of you_ versus _all of us_ \- and I hereby declare us the _winners.”_

“Mainframe _knew_ where the signal was coming from, didn’t he?” Rodimus asked the mutineer rhetorically. “He _lied_ to get us off the ship - and sabotaged the teleport drive so we couldn’t get back…”

“It wasn’t just Mainframe,” Getaway responded lightly. “Let’s just say that the rest of the crew recognized an opportunity - finally - to get _Megatron’s Fan Club_ off the ship once and for all.”

“Did you arrange for us to be _attacked,_ too?” Rodimus snapped. “Were you that worried about us coming back?”

“Let me answer your questions with one of my own:” Getaway said. “Prowlie-bot’s here, so this should be an easy one,” he called mockingly, clearly having spotted Prowl in the peripheral of his screen. He glared hatefully at his former subordinate in response. “By what _tortured logic_ did _high command_ conclude that letting an _unrepentant mass murderer_ off the hook represented anything _other_ than an _insult_ to the memory of the _billions_ he killed?” Getaway gesticulated dramatically to emphasize his point.

“Seriously - can someone explain to me how the war can end with the _instigator_ being allowed to go about his business _as if nothing happened?_ The death camps! The massacres! The cities razed to the ground! Apparently all of them were just _missteps_ \- painful but necessary - on Megatron’s _path to self-discovery!”_ Getaway’s voice rose until he was almost shouting at them.

“I have never claimed to understand why Optimus makes such monumentally idiotic decisions,” Prowl responded blithely, finally managing to restart his vocalizer. His answer didn’t calm Getaway any - it instead seemed to do the opposite, fueling his anger even more.

“You’re one of the worst offenders of this entire group!” Getaway snapped. “You used to be an icon, an absolute hero to MTOs!” He gestured dramatically, voice taking on an almost theatrical tone. “Prowl of Petrex - who grew up in a functionalist city, where constructs were seen as lesser, yet managed to survive and thrive. Prowl of Petrex - who clawed his way up from a lowly position assigned by the Functionalist Council to being the only Cold Constructed mech in Autobot High Command. Second in Command of the Autobots, so integral to the war effort that when mecha said ‘High Command’, they meant ‘Prowl’. You, who fought so hard, denta and claw for Megatron’s execution, who even acted as prosecutor in his trial - cuddled up to a Decepticon gestalt like some love-sick newbuild.” Getaway lowered his voice to a disdainful hiss, “Oh, how the mighty _have_ fallen.”

Prowl could feel the anger and indignation filtering through the gestalt bond, but held all of them back from saying anything with a firm, _:: Don’t. ::_ He kept his optic locked on the screen - on Getaway.

“Look,” Rodimus interrupted, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, redirecting Getaway’s attention back to himself, _“I get it._ When I heard Optimus was putting Megatron on board, I was _fuming.”_

“Yes,” Getaway responded acidly, “because you were afraid he’d _show you up!_ Look at you now! Best friends! _All_ of you. Not just Rodimus! What are you, his _entourage?”_ he cried disbelievingly as if the whole situation leading up to the moment was just some elaborate prank. “By helping that _maniac_ find peace you’re excusing his past behavior. And it falls to us - _the ninety-nine percent_ \- to remind you how _wrong_ this is.” Getaway paused to take a vent, straightening back up, redirecting his gaze to look accusingly at Megatron. “Forgiveness? Rehabilitation? Reintegration?” He shook his head. “No. Not him. Not now. Now ever.”

“Oi!” Swerve called from somewhere behind him - Prowl tried to turn and look, but Velocity had regained enough of her wits about the situation to block him from attempting to twist around. “What is this, _guilt by association?_ I’ve _never_ taken Megatron’s side! I’ve never even _talked_ to you about Megatron!”

“Yeah,” Getaway responded easily, “you have. You _all_ have, at one time or another. You just don’t remember it.” Prowl felt his vents catch - Getaway’s last mission - he would still have his equipment from that - “After Megatron’s trial, _Atomizer_ and I spoke to _everyone_ on board. Two questions: ‘Do you think he deserves a second chance?’ and ‘What would you do is someone staged a _coup?’”_ Getaway suddenly lifted a slight handgun into the frame of the screen, tapping it against the side of his head almost teasingly. “If you weren’t prepared to stand with us when the time came, then _bang._ A quick blast from the _nudge gun_ and our memory our conversation was quietly removed. No harm done. No side effects. Just a _headache.”_

“You _bastard,”_ Skids hissed, striding up to the console, positively seething.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Rodimus answered darkly.

 _“Ah,”_ Getaway responded, as if just remembering something, “but - y’see - my problem’s not just with Prowl or Megatron. It’s with _you.”_

Rodimus paused. “Me?”

“You’re a _bad captain._ I realized that the moment I saw your ridiculous ‘RodPod.’ The thing is…” he trailed off contemplatively, “... if our race is to rebuild itself, we _need_ to find the Knights. We _need_ to find Cyberutopia.” Getaway’s voice took on a condemning tone as he continued to speak. “But you’re in this for _you,_ not for anyone else. And _that’s_ why we never _get_ anywhere. Even before Optimus dumped Megatron on us, Atomizer and I were looking for a way to… move you aside.”

“The list…” Rodimus said with the shock of realization.

“List?” Ultra Magnus asked as he strode forward to the console from the back of the room, where he had been accounting for everybody.

“Atomizer offered me a list of people he said were against me. He said I could weed out the trouble-makers…” Ah - the vote that had taken place before the _Lost Light_ had returned to Cybertron - Prowl could recall hearing about it.

“And had you done so I’d have had something to bargain with. A bit of friendly _blackmail_ and I could’ve _persuaded_ you to let someone else take over,” Getaway revealed, and Prowl was sharply reminded that there had always been two kinds of people in SpecOps - people like Skids, and people like himself and Getaway. “But we don’t actually _need_ you at all! We’ve even got our own map - the one you drew on your desk.”

“Look here, Getaway,” Ultra Magnus began, with his usual commanding and righteous tone, “I don’t know what in the blue blazes you think you’re playing at, but this is getting ridiculous.”

“What can I say?” Getaway responded innocently. “I’m not a bad person, I just have strong beliefs. I believe in finding the Knights, and I believe in Justice. And Rodimus - and the rest of you - are an obstacle to _both,”_ he summarized succinctly. “And that’s really all I wanted to say. So thanks for calling, but this is where we must part company.”

“We’re coming after you,” Rodimus promised darkly. “Count on it.”

“Without your precious ‘RodPod’?” Getaway asked teasingly.

“We’ll find a way. Trust me.”

“Well, you’d better hurry…” Getaway trailed off ominously. “... you’re about to have visitors.”

“What do you mean?” Rodimus demanded, plating flared out angrily.

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise!” Getaway gasped scandalously. “Just do as they say and no one will get hurt.” He paused, as if considering it, and continued before Rodimus could say anything. “That’s a lie. One of you will probably get hurt.”

“Getaway,” Megatron interrupted, speaking for the first time. “Please. For their sake, not mine.” Rodimus pushed Megatron to the side, clearly at the end of his tether at the threat against his crew, getting right up in the camera.

“Getaway -” he began to shout.

“No!” the mutineer interrupted, turning away from the screen. “Enough! This conversation has dragged on _far_ too long. Once I end this call, _that’s it._ I’m shutting down all comms. We’ve got work to do! Maps to Follow Knights to find!”

“I swear to God,” Rodimus started venomously, not tempered any by the disinterested look Getaway shot him over his shoulder, “if you _dare_ to -”

“That’s it, guys,” Getaway interrupted, turning back. “Over and out.”

The screen fizzled out.

 **_“GETAWAY!”_ ** Rodimus roared in anger, sending his fist through the console. Prowl barely even noticed as Ravage slunk past, armor smoking, and the Constructicons crowded around him, Velocity too shocked to even shoo them away.

“Megatron…” Ravage began lowly. Megatron knelt down to run a comforting hand across the felinoid’s head as he collapsed to the ground tiredly.

“They’re here, aren’t they?” he asked lowly. Prowl was afraid that he knew who Megatron was talking about - the Constructicons clearly had a good idea, if the way froze before knitting themselves together even tighter around him, as close as they could be without disrupting Velocity’s work, fear flowing over the bond and through their EM fields.

“Not just them…” Ravage responded. “Hundreds…”

“Who?” Ultra Magnus asked. “Who’s here?” Megatron slowly rose to his feet before answering.

“The _Decepticon Justice_ Division. My _executioners,”_ he replied darkly.

All the fields that had previously been washing room in anxiety froze before ice-cold fear flooded them all. Prowl’s vents stalled. He didn’t object as five other EM fields harmonized with his, fears and weak, meaningless reassurances fluttering through the bond at light-speed.

“I think _this is it…”_ Megatron said, voice reverberating loudly in the dead quiet room. “I think this is how it ends.”

Prowl hugged the Constructicons just that little bit tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, responding to comments last chapter: *sweats as i realize i didn't establish that prowl doesn't want to talk to anybody about this, least of all the constructicons, bc he's an idiot who can't process his emotions properly*
> 
> so yes, we're officially in the dying of the light arc. so its gonna be... a bit sad ('a bit'). These next two chapters are gonna be hard to write and probably hard to read as well bc they are... sad. like really sad. to me at least. break out the angst tag boys.
> 
> *screams spoilers into the abyss because this is killing me*
> 
> p.s. if you want to know when updates for this fic are sooner than when you get the automated email, I do post updates and brief previews over on my twitter (@crimsonseekers), and on my tumblr, where I also take asks about this fic! (self-promotion is a go)
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl and the Constructicons find a semblance of stability in each other's presence - until suddenly they can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to steal a joke that i've both used in a response to a comment last chapter and something i've tweeted - everybody here is expecting something that is not happening and honestly i probably should have seen it coming  
> anyway, please don't kill me :)

The fortress shook - from the kind of fire it would take while it was under siege, Prowl would recognize it anywhere. Scavenger’s vent hitched and he tightened his arms around Prowl’s waist, and Hook pressed his EM field further into his.

“So we’re just gonna sit here and get _killed?!”_ Whirl demanded indignantly.

“You’d prefer to sit _out there_ and get killed?” Nightbeat asked, a strained smile on his face.

“Indoors gets my vote,” Brainstorm chipped in.

“Can’t beat a good ceiling,” Swerve added.

“We’re being _pummelled!”_ Nautica exclaimed, moving the discussion back to the problem. “How many of them _are_ there?!”

“Bear with me -” Rewind called from the communications console. “Activating vidcams…”

Getaway hadn’t lied, and Megatron was right. They were there - Tarn, the DJD, Deathsaurus.

_:: I’m scared, ::_ Long Haul said weakly through the bond. Even Bonecrusher, with all the confident bravado he usually displayed, had nothing to say that would reassure his panicking gestalt mate. Long Haul tucked his head into Prowl’s shoulder - he could feel the deep, forced calm of his ventilations brushing against his chin.

Prowl could feel his own spark begin to beat faster - he’d _seen_ what the DJD could do, heard stories and read reports of their work.

“They’ve stopped!” Tailgate exclaimed, breaking Prowl and the COnstructicons out of their panicked reverie. “They’re leaving!”

“Maybe they heard _you_ were inside, _eh, slugger?”_ Brainstorm responded enthusiastically, bumping Tailgate’s shoulder.

“I’m serious! Maybe this fortress was too much for them…!”

“I’m afraid not,” Megatron interrupted, dashing whatever hope might have been growing in the room. “Tarn is _following the script:_ a show of _power,_ then a show of _restraint._ Because power plus restraint equals _control.”_ Prowl, at least, was familiar with the concept - an effective tactic to cajole disruptive troops and operatives - but using it like the DJD…

“So he tells us he’s in charge - and _then_ what?” Rodimus asked. “Then he _leaves?”_

“No…” Megatron responded lowly, and Prowl’s optics suddenly focused on the smoking words visible on the console, carved into the field by weapon fire by the Decepticon troops that had since cleared away. “... then he promises to _come back.”_

**_SUNSET_ **

“Just so you know?” Swerve interjected, the static lacing his voice distinctly panicked (and wasn’t it a day when Prowl realized he could relate to _Swerve_ of all people). _“Right here, right now_ had reached the top of my _situations to never be in_ list.”

“Is there any way we can summon assistance?” Ultra Magnus suggested.

“Not now,” Tailgate added dejectedly. _“Getaway’s_ put us on _mute.”_

_“Screw Getaway,”_ Ultra Magnus snapped. “Call Cybertron, call Luna One, call Caminus, call _everyone._ And I apologize for swearing.” No one had the spark to tell Magnus that he hadn’t really sworn to begin with.

“It’s too late,” Megatron said darkly, and the mood of the room plummeted even further. “By now, Tarn’s blocked all long-range communications. Either that or he’s _slowed the signal_ \- in which case it’ll be _weeks_ before a message is heard.” He took a vent. “ _Attack, withdraw, isolate._ It’s all in the script.”

“Sunset’s _eight hours away…”_ Chromedome said, checking his chronometer. “And we’ve got no weapons, no defenses, no escape route, and no way of calling for help.”

“Using Devastator’s out, too,” Velocity said, cutting off Mixmaster, who had opened his mouth, and finished a last patch on Prowl’s back before standing up. “If I had to guess, they specifically aimed to incapacitate Prowl’s ability to combine.” She shook her head. “Even if I was willing to send him out in his condition, there are too many problems with his frame and spark stressors that he wouldn’t even be able to mass shift enough to get anywhere. Can’t even walk - struts are completely shattered and it’ll take more time than we have to replace them, even with no complications. So we can’t sweep them aside with a four hundred foot combiner, either.” Mixmaster shut his mouth, and simply shifted to press Prowl closer against him. There was too little left to live for Prowl to even try and muster up the energy to be irritated at any of the blatant public affection.

“Eight hours is _plenty,”_ Skids said determinedly. “We can _improvise_ weapons. We can _build_ defenses. We can _devise_ an escape route - and then we won’t _need_ to call for help.”

The Constructicons didn’t look convinced, and Prowl held little confidence in the group himself.

“Skids is right,” Rodimus said, a new flare of determination igniting his voice. “Everyone split up and search the fortress - _top to bottom,_ people. You’re looking for anything that’ll help us run, fight or hide.” The room started to move, suddenly imbued with the energy of doing _something_ other than waiting around for their inevitable demise.

“Wanna group up?” Bonecrusher asked jokingly as they all clambered to their feet, Prowl still held securely in Mixmaster’s arms, trying to lighten the mood. Prowl could feel their fear over the bond - after Megatron, they were most likely the next biggest Traitors at the location.

“Well,” he began, gesturing to the chemist’s firm hold around his battered frame. “Not like I can say no now, can I?”

* * *

“Nothing!” Scavenger called back, having taken point on their search for anything of use to be found in the fortress. Prowl could feel the hope that he vainly clung to slip a little more.

“We’ll try the next set of rooms, then,” he offered.

“Pointless,” Hook bemoaned. “This is absolutely pointless. It can’t get much more obvious that the Necrobot was too much of a pacifist to keep anything useful. It’s just a bunch of junk!”

“You can find a lot of useful things in junk. People throw away useful stuff all the time!” Long Haul countered. “Remember that time we found a bunch of type C-7 metalli-”

“That’d be great if we were in an actual _junkyard_ with actual _materials,”_ Bonecrusher interrupted, shifting Prowl’s weight to his other arm, being it his turn to carry his gestalt-mate around. “But the junk here is just a bunch of lists and datapads - nothing useful in a _fight.”_

“At best, we could tear out the walls to use the piping and structure as some crude weapons,” Prowl suggested weakly. Mixmaster scoffed.

“At most, we’d just weaken and collapse the structure - most of these walls are load-bearing, so it’d have to come from the upper floor, but most of the really strong stuff is on lower floors.”

They walked a few paces further in silence.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Scavenger asked quietly. “We’re going to die because some _stupid_ glitch decided he knows best? We’re going to die because a fanatic with a mockery of the Decepticon symbol can’t accept the fact that it’s _over_ and it’s time to _move on?”_

Prowl had spent the better part of the last half-hour desperately trying to ignore that reality.

“I think we are,” he responded blankly. “Ironic, is it not? That we’re to die in a time of supposed peace instead of in the four million year war that just ended.” He tilted his head back to stare at the lights in the ceiling as they passed. “At least at war, there would have been a good cause to die for.” He glanced back down as they paused, looking at the Constructicons as they looked at him. Scavenger smoothly fell back, bonking his facemask against Prowl’s jaw in what he had realized was an affectionate gesture (he spared a thought to the dent he knew would be there, but dismissed it as soon as it appeared).

“I’m happy to die in a time of peace,” he offered as a counter. “Without peace, there’d be no you.”

Prowl offered him an indulgent smile. “I wouldn’t exactly call the circumstances ‘peaceful’.”

“There was an official peace, at least,” Mixmaster interjected. “Might not’ve been carried out so well by either side, but… it was there.”

“Wasn’t ideal, but it led us to get you,” Long Haul added. “Led to you giving us a chance.”

“That chance has been everything to us,” Bonecrusher continued.

“‘N as great as it would be to continue, we’ve gotten enough to at least make an effort to die knowing we’ve lived the best we could, with as few regrets as possible,” Hook finished.

As few regrets as possible…

Prowl felt his tanks churn and his spark shudder - at least if they died in this peacetime, he wouldn’t have to regret bringing someone else into this world.

* * *

_"Hmm,”_ Rodimus mused as he glanced over the last report Rung gave him, before looking up to face the expectant room while they waited for Velocity and Skids’ teams to return. “Okay, so the _bad news_ is that we’re comprehensively weaponless, our defenses amount to a _giant umbrella,_ and the only transport in this paper-thin ‘fortress’ is a space scooter so _unconvincing_ it needs the words ‘space scooter’ painted on it.”

“What’s the good news?” Tailgate asked hopefully as Nightbeat rushed in, excited.

“Who said anything about good news?” Rodimus returned dryly, effectively killing the mood.

_“I’ve_ got some good news,” Nightbeat offered proudly. “I’ve got news so good you’ll want to settle down with it. I’ve got news so good you’ll want to introduce it to your friends.”

Everyone perked up, even the Constructicons, as hopeless as they had been throughout the trip, perked up at the blatant enthusiasm.

“I’m assuming that makes sense to other people,” Ultra Magnus responded blandly as Skids wheeled an odd cylindrical machine into the room.

“Guess what this is,” the detective asked smugly.

“A booth,” Rewind tried. “A stasis pod. A _door.”_

“A _door!”_ he exclaimed like a dramatic game show host. “And not just _any_ door. This is the _only door you’ll ever need.”_

“This door better be able to pull off miracles of Primus, then,” Prowl muttered dryly.

_“Quantum tech,”_ he began to explain as Brainstorm surged forward and examined it with relish. “That’s now the Necrobot got around: he used a teleport chamber to get from _here_ to _anywhere._ Right now it’s running low on Quantum energy - but it’s carrying _just_ enough charge to take us all to the nearest asteroid. We can send a message to Cybertron, tell them where we’re going, and get picked up in a few weeks’ time!”

Prowl frowned slightly at the suggestion - the DJD tracked their targets by spark signatures, at most they’d buy time. But feelings of lightness and hope began to flow freely across the bond, and he found that he didn’t have the spark to counter their one hope.

“So we just step inside the chamber and… _VOMF!”_ Brainstorm declared eagerly, folding back his wings as he opened the door to get a good peak.

“I make no guarantees as to the sound,” Nightbeat remarked.

“Alright then!” Rodimus exclaimed, a sudden chirp in his voice. “Form an orderly queue - _ex-Decepticons_ at the back, _ex-Matrix bearers_ at the front. I take it we’re all here?”

“No -” somebody exclaimed - _Nautica_ \- as a rush of fans and skidding tires came from behind them, “- not by a long shot,” she exclaimed, running over to them.

“We found something,” Velocity added before she had even finished her transformation sequence.

“Something better than Nightbeat’s door?” Rodimus asked skeptically. A troubled look crossed both of the Camiens’ faces.

_“Bodies,_ Rodimus -” Velocity started, quickly maneuvering across to the monitors and began sorting through the security cameras, “- dozens of them. Fifty, sixty at least.” A broad view of a room filled with opaque capsules filled the screen. “Alive, but locked inside _life support pods._ They appear to be in a kind of _chemically induced coma._ Least I _think_ so,” she finished, additionally pulling up zoom-ins of the bodies for emphasis.

“You _‘think’_ so…” Rodimus started.

“I haven’t carried out a thorough check - I was worried I’d disturb them. In any case, I don’t have experience of dealing with organic life forms.” Prowl took a moment to broodily wonder why everything always came back to organics.

“Wait,” Whirl interjected, shoving through the tight-knit of the huddle the Constructicons and Prowl had formed to get closer to the monitor. “Stop the care, everyone out. _Organic life forms?”_ He clicked his claws agitatedly. “These guys aren’t even Cybertronian?”

_“No,_ but they’re _alive_ and they’re _vulnerable,”_ Nautica replied defensively, leaning against the teleportation booth to take the weight off her leg, and - huh. That was the first sight Prowl had been able to catch of her injury, and while he could see some patchwork by Velocity, if Nautica was arguing for what he thought she was, he suddenly lost what little hope he had found. “And their life support pods won’t fit through Nightbeat’s door.”

“The DJD _hate_ organics - they learned that from _him,”_ Skids added, thumbing pointedly at where Megatron stood next to him. “If we leave them behind, they’re _dead.”_

Oh no. The conversation was definitely turning in a direction Prowl feared.

“If we stay behind, we’re _all_ dead,” Chromedome pointed out. A beat passed.

“Rodimus…?” Ultra Magnus began, stooping down to wave his hand in the co-captain’s face, garnering attention from the mech.

“Hi.”

“What do we do?”

“What do we do. What do we do. What do we do,” Rodimus repeated to himself contemplatively, leaving against the console and looking down in thought. “Excellent question.”

“Look, some people might say -” Brainstorm added, suddenly popping back out from behind Nightbeat’s door, “- I’m just gonna put this _gently_ on the table - some people might say that the one, two, three, four…” he trailed off for a moment as he counted before suddenly continuing, “twenty-two of use could do a _lot_ of good if we lived to fight another day. In the last six months, we’ve done some _great things!_ All those worlds! All those people we’ve helped!” He paused for a beat, considering his words. “Okay so practically all of the people we helped were _mechs_ \- but!- if we make it out of this alive - and thanks to Nightbeat we _can_ \- we’ll absolutely make _saving organics_ our number-one priority.” Brainstorm took a moment to let his words sink in, before continuing, gesturing for emphasis. “There are sixty fleshlings downstairs. The next planet we save? Sixty _million.”_ He shrugged. “I’m just saying: maths.” There was a beat of silence.

“I think what Brainstorm’s _actually_ saying is that we face a choice,” Rodimus started. “I never thought I’d say this, but… let’s not rush. Let’s explore this from all angles - let’s have a proper _debate_ and work slowly towards a _collective decision.”_

Prowl found it amusing that in almost any other situation, he would have appreciated Rodimus’ maturity and willingness to listen to both sides, but the DJD was _right there and -_

“I’m staying.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed immediately after Megatron’s declaration.

“Ten-” the reprogrammed legislator began, before getting cut off by Rodimus.

**_“NOT! NOW!”_ ** The flower painted bot looked down dejectedly. Rodimus turned back to face Megatron, a blank, processing look on his face.

“You’re staying,” he started. “You’re staying to protect the organics. _You.”_

_:: Holy slag, ::_ Mixmaster muttered through the bond, a ripple of shock following his words.

“You have every right to be surprised,” Megatron responded passively.

_:: Didn’t think I’d ever even have a reason to see that coming, ::_ Long Haul agreed.

“You’ll _die,”_ Rodimus told him.

_:: I’m starting to hope that this is just a really bizarre recharge flux, ::_ Hook added.

“I expect so.”

_:: Primus, wouldn’t that be nice? ::_ Scavenger responded.

“If this is some kind of _gesture…”_

_:: I don’t think any of us are cracked enough to come up with something like this, ::_ Bonecrusher countered easily.

“I’m not trying to _set an example_ if that’s what you mean. I’ve made my choice, Rodimus. You’re free to make yours,” he told his co-captain (but they were ex-co-captains now, weren’t they) before turning to face the rest of them. “You’re _all_ free to make yours. Anyone who wishes to leave should leave. No questions need be asked, no reasons given. The same if you want to _stay._ You don’t have to justify your actions, or explain your motives, or invite others to _scrutinize_ your _conscience._ Either you stay or you go. You don’t need anyone’s _permission._ You don’t need anyone’s _blessing._ Make whatever decision you wish to make - but make it for _yourself._ And let me assure you: there is nothing in this room but _understanding.”_

And Prowl was reminded of the impassioned voice that spoke in books and pamphlets that he confiscated and arrested many for back in Petrex, whenever he was working the patrol shift. The way he and Chromedome _(Tumbler)_ would huddle together and try and zip through as many of the eloquent words as they could before they had to turn the writings over to the disposal team. _Choice._

_You don’t need anyone’s_ permission. _You don’t need anyone’s_ blessing.

_:: I don’t want to leave anyone to die, ::_ Scavenger said softly across the bond, almost like a whisper against Prowl’s spark, hesitation clear.

_:: We’ve done enough already - as few regrets as possible, right? ::_ Long Haul added.

“Well said,” Rodimus complimented quietly, brushing his fingers over the Autobot badge on Megatron’s chest as he passed him, shadows clouding his downturned face.

_:: We’re engineers and construction workers - building defenses is what we do best, ::_ Mixmaster supplied.

“If anyone wishes to leave -” Rodimus started gravely, coming to a stop in front of their door out, “- for whatever reason - please raise your hand.”

_:: All of us are injured - too many for Velocity to handle alone, ::_ Hook continued.

“Your paw or your hand.”

_:: We’re not just Devastator. We can fight on our own as well, ::_ Bonecrusher finished.

A silence fell around the room, and Prowl could feel the tenseness on the Constructicons’ sparks and fields. The waiting. The uncertainty.

_:: Follow you everywhere, Prowl. ::_

_:: Everywhere and anywhere. ::_

_:: In and out of anything. ::_

_:: Wherever and whatever you want. ::_

_:: Whatever your call is, we’ll follow. ::_

The Constructicons had each made their case and were waiting for him. What he wanted was what went.

Leaving would be the logical option.

He spared a glance Velocity and Nautica - the only two mecha in the room or who had been on _Lost Light_ that he would consider himself friendly with. Both stared straight ahead, not a hint of hesitation in their optics.

He took in the tightness of the cables in Velocity’s hands, from where she had been overworking to fix everybody up as best she could and as quickly as she could.

He examined the exposed circuits and wires of Nautica’s face, the way she crossed her arms and stood up straight as if daring anyone to question her decision.

He glanced at Ultra Magnus, who stood there steadily, the stoic confidence in his stance despite his missing arm.

He looked at Rung, the tiny psychiatrist who had so little to offer but kind words of motivation and counseling, struts ramrod straight, a cool assuredness in his optics at his decision.

_:: We stay. ::_

* * *

“Your spark levels are fluctuating,” Velocity said, drawing Prowl’s attention back from the bustle of Ratchet and Drift - two of the _last_ mechs he had expected to show up in their hour of need. He didn’t miss the way that she kept looking up at Ten - who had come in looking more like a pile of scrap metal than anything - and had only relaxed once Ratchet had declared he had been stabilized on the ride over.

“I’m assuming that since it’s coming up _now_ that it’s a bad thing,” he asked rhetorically.

“Too much stress - and feedback from the Constructicons isn’t helping either.”

“Is this an immediate problem or a ‘we can worry about this later’ problem?”

“Immediate as in an ‘if we can’t fix this soon, you’re spark might start to weaken, cause irreparable damage and an uncontrolled reabsorption’ kind of problem.”

“...We do have a way to fix it, right?” he asked worriedly. He had managed to convince the Constructicons to leave him and go help in the construction of defenses around the base, and he would significantly prefer it if he actually _survived_ his decision to stay, instead of dying before he would even know if it was worth it.

“Everything here is a stressor - we’d have to put you in stasis pretty soon and leave you there for at least a few days to give it time to stabilize.” She huffed quietly, seemingly irritated with herself. “If I’d caught this a few hours ago, I might’ve been able to reroute your energy systems to divert this, but now…” She deflated, glancing over to Ratchet, who was slowly making his way over after a few soft parting words with Drift, who went down another hallway. “Call the Constructicons down - it’ll take them a few minutes to get here. Can I get a second opinion on this?” she asked. “I don’t prior experience with sparked mechs, and I’ve been able to manage so far with what I know out of textbooks but this…” Velocity gestured at him, shrugging. “There’s so much happening here that I’m not exactly sure what I should do.”

_Can I bring in a second party to this?_

Prowl paused as he considered what was not much of a choice - he’d thrown in too much to die because of problematic carry. “Seems he’s coming this way anyhow. Go for it.”

Velocity threw him an uncertain look, but left to talk to the newly arrived medic when he waved his hand in a shooing motion.

_:: How soon can you all return to the main room? ::_ he asked over the bond.

_:: Few minutes, ::_ Bonecrusher responded almost instantaneously. _:: Need us? ::_

_:: Velocity might need to put me in stasis soon - I’d rather you all here. ::_

A beat as waves of worry washed over the bond. _:: Be right there. ::_

“Never thought I’d see you of all mecha kindle,” a gruff voice sounded, breaking Prowl from his thoughts.

“Never thought I’d see you here to witness it,” Prowl responded simply. Ratchet grinned wryly before the expression faded as he scanned over a datapad that Velocity handed to him.

“Unfortunately, though, I’ll have to agree with Velocity on this one - for once you haven’t overworked yourself to stasis, carrying and whatever the frag is going on here has just weakened you to a point where being _online_ is driving you to an emergency shut-down.” Prowl vented.

“So I am going into medical stasis then?”

“Soon as possible, and probably for at least a week - you’ve just continued on as normal since you found out you were sparked?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the problem - I assume that you were given the standard functionalist education on sparking whenever you were brought online in Petrex?”

“That we were knock-offs and our sparks couldn’t support anything natural? Obviously.”

“Then you wouldn’t know that carriers are meant to be put on leave or at the very least _light duty_ for a reason, then.” Ratchet sighed heavily, handing the datapad back to a troubled Velocity. “All of this has been compounding, and I’m surprised it didn’t start to appear earlier - burnout of the carrier’s spark would usually show up sooner than this, and of course it just happens to appear at an extremely inconvenient time.”

“The Constructicons are coming down,” Velocity informed the older medic, but Prowl (and Ratchet, going by the pitying look on his face) didn’t miss that slightly shamed flare of her field - shame for not catching it, perhaps? Or shame for not knowing enough to prevent the situation from even starting. “We can put him under once they’ve talked.”

Ratchet sighed.

“Soon as possible, Velocity - give them a few minutes, the longer we wait, the time it’ll take to recover increases exponentially.” Almost on cue, five green and purple frames bustled into the room, making a beeline straight for Prowl.

“I’ll let you six talk,” she said with a slight smile, patting his shoulder before turning to follow Ratchet as he started work on Ten.

“You okay, Prowl?” Long Haul asked nervously as they all crowded around him. “You’re not dying or anything, right?”

“Yeah, stasis is pretty serious business,” Mixmaster added. Prowl shook his head.

“My spark is too stressed and staying online is compounding the problem - Ratchet and Velocity agreed that I need at least a week in stasis as soon as possible to recover,” he summed up.

“...Right now?” Scavenger prompted.

“We have a few minutes - but they’re nervous and want me under as soon as possible.”

“...Well at least if you’re in stasis, you won’t have to worry about the DJD,” Bonecrushed attempted to joke, though the attempt fell flat.

Hook sighed. “Rewind’s started setting up to send out last messages - but it’ll be an hour or two before it’s ready. Anything you wanna say?” He paused, considering.

“...The Crystal Gardens of Petrex. That’s where I want to be buried.”

“Petrex had Crystal Gardens?” Scavenger asked, a small teek of curiosity in his field. Prowl nodded.

“One of the few places with open entrance when I was onlined. I spent a lot of time there. The only place left I can think of with no bad memories.”

“Crystal Gardens of Petrex. Got it,” Bonecrusher said, looking as if he were making a note on his HUD.

“Last words or anything?” 

What could he say without sounding pretentious? Anything flowery and honest, and it’d come off as if he were trying to be a martyr, and saying nothing, well… He had been punched for seeming as if he thought himself above everyone else before (and to be fair, in many of those cases, he certainly was).

“Tell them that I’m sorry.” The Constructicons paused.

“For what?”

_Everything that pushed them all away._

“Doesn’t matter.”

There was a long, silent moment where no party knew what to say.

“Listen to Rodimus - make sure we all get out of here in one piece,” Prowl offered.

A split second of hesitation and, “What if we gotta go off-world or something to go get help?”

“I’ll be here, and I’ll be _fine._ Once you get rid of Tarn and his cronies,” as if the rest of the rogue Decepticons out there weren’t capable of easily tearing the spark from each of their bodies, “do whatever it takes to get us off this forsaken planet.” He smiled maliciously. “We have an errant escape artist to _dispose_ of.”

A chorus of agreement and _Yes_ flooded across the bond almost instantaneously. He took a moment before he said his last bit.

“I do expect you all to be alive when I wake up,” Prowl said. “And that’s an order.”

They all lit up with happiness - confidence at the thought of _after._

“Don’t have nothing to worry about, Prowl,” Mixmaster assured a smug smile on his face.

Prowl raised an optic ridge, an amused smile crossing his face. “I better not,” he admitted quietly. “I have one more chance to give you all.”

_Curiosity / intrigue / assurance_ washed across the bond. Prowl could almost feel a phantom presence against his spark.

_:: You have to stay alive to find out, ::_ he told them teasingly.

“You all good?” Velocity asked, suddenly appearing. They all paused looking at each other for any last words.

“Yeah,” Prowl said. “I think we’re okay.” Velocity nodded and jacked into his medical port, and Prowl watched as the diagnosis and shutdown of his systems and notifications of all such things flooded his HUD.

He felt his limbs go slack even as one of the Constructicons laced their fingers with his, though he lacked the presence to even tell who, and one took his hand on the other side. One of them cradled his head, one rubbed his chevron and one massaged his remaining door wing

_:: Love you, ::_ was the last thing they chorused at him before his mind went blank.

* * *

Prowl powered back up - something tugged against his spark. The room was dark, no medics to be seen and his chronometer read that it hadn’t been more than a few days.

_27:45:32_ his chronometer prattled off the time at him after he checked the date.

_:: Prowl - ::_ a weak presence against his spark pulled determinedly.

_:: Where? ::_ he quickly demanded, feeling the Constructicons surge their side of the bond open, even as the bond began to strain.

_:: Alternate - ::_

Something yanked his spark in a none - too pleasant fashion.

_:: Functionalist - ::_

The pull turned into agonizing pain.

_:: The teleport - ::_

Something was ringing in his audials.

_:: We’re sorr - ::_

The bond snapped. It wasn’t an audible nor visible snap, but Prowl felt it all the same.

_gonegonegonegonegoneGONEGONEGONEGONE-_

Lights flooded the room, mecha burst in shouting, but Prowl didn’t care because he couldn’t feel the Constructicons and their presence should’ve been right there and it _wasn’t -_

_27:45:33_

Prowl realized the ringing noise in his audials was his own screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *distressed noises*
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com) where I drown the sorrow writing this chapter has caused me in robots. I also have a twitter where I spend my days wasting away (@crimsonseekers).
> 
> homicide is illegal please don't come for me


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Constructicons are lost in a parallel, functionist universe, and Prowl struggles to come to terms with the fact that they're gone, and what he does now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screech*

_“KAPUT! GET IN HERE NOW!”_

_“- suffering from the reverberations -”_

_“- protocols -”_

_“- sucking all the energy -”_

_“He’s guttering-”_

_“- then get a donor!”_

_“Clear!”_

_“- everybody’s back -”_

_“Then be useful and tell Ratchet to stop fragging around and get in here! Clear!”_

_“- should get them to merge -”_

_“- left behind -”_

_“- lost -”_

_“- they’re gone?”_

_Gone._

_“- how do you lose -?”_

_Gone._

_“- any idea what you’ve -?!”_

_Gone._

_“- not the one telling him -”_

Gone.

* * *

Prowl stared blankly at Rodimus.

“You lost my gestalt.”

Nod.

“In a parallel universe.”

Nod.

“A _functionist_ universe?”

Nod.

Prowl vented, digging his fingers into the metal of the medical berth he sat upon. After a few seconds a dark, almost hysterical giggle escaped his vocalizer, causing Velocity to glance at him worriedly. “You couldn’t have chosen a worse place to leave them.” _(Scavenger wanted to be an archeologist, Hook was a medic, Mixmaster was a chemist, Bonecrusher-)_ “They’re all _construction_ vehicles, but none of their primary talents lie in _construction,_ you absolute _moron.”_

Rodimus looked stricken, and carefully averted his optics, the brief, slight sway of his body revealing the barely repressed inclination to shuffle his feet. “Look, Prowl, I’m _really_ sorry -”

“Sorry?” Prowl asked dryly. “You lose my gestalt in a parallel universe, you lose my _bonded,_ and all you have to say is _sorry?”_

“I -”

_“You lost the sires of my sparkling and you’re_ **_sorry?”_ **

Time seemed to stop as Rodimus froze, optics flaring briefly in shock. “You’re sparked?”

Prowl hissed. _“That’s_ what you took away from what I just said?”

A rapid backpedal. “No - it’s just surprising, sorry, um -”

“Do you even know how to get them back?” A pause. “You _are_ planning to get them back, aren’t you?”

Rodimus ruffled his plating as he seemed to consider the question. “It’s complicated.”

Prowl stared unseeingly at the brightly-colored mech as he processed the statement. _Vent in, vent out._ “Get out,” he said quietly.

“What? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.” _Of course you’re sorry._

“Get out,” he repeated louder. Rodimus shuttered his optics.

“Prowl, we’ll see what we can do, but I don’t think -”

_“Get out.”_

His spoiler wilted. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

Prowl grabbed the slight side table that stood next to the medical berth and hurled it at Rodimus’ head, who barely managed to dodge, flinching at the loud _CRUNCH_ that sounded when the table crashed into the wall opposite.

**_“GET OUT!”_ **

Rodimus backed away as Prowl seethed, holding his hands up in a quiet surrender before hurrying from the room. A gentle hand fell on his shoulder, causing him to whip his head around and glare at Velocity, doorwings held at a high, aggressive angle. She opened her mouth, closed it, and smiled oddly for a second _(what part of this situation deserved a smile?),_ in a strained fashion - it was probably meant to be comforting in some way.

“I’ll leave you alone for a bit. Comm if you need me.” And then she was gone.

Prowl sat there for a moment, calming his heavy vents, pointedly _not_ looking at the remains of the destroyed table on the other side of the room. He laid down, covering his optics with his arm.

How arrogant of him to think that something nice could _finally_ last.

* * *

The next few days passed Prowl by in a blur - Velocity came in every few hours to check on him, always chattering about something or another. He never responded, but it was… _nice,_ he supposed, to have something to beat away the silence, to wash away the thoughts that crowded his mind day in and day out.

_Never coming back lost forever all alone left behind what now that they’re gone gone gone gonegonegoneGONEGONE -_

The only time he acknowledged Velocity’s words was whenever she asked if he would take visitors - he always shook his head no _(who would want to talk to him?)._ She would frown, but accept his verdict and move on, never questioning or pushing (probably because she knew he wouldn’t answer).

_Click._

Velocity paused in her work as her audials caught the sound of his vocalizer rebooting (she had probably been listening carefully for the sound over the past few days). He opened his mouth.

“Am I allowed to take a walk?” he asked softly. Velocity looked at him for a long moment before sighing and beginning to disconnect from the diagnostic equipment that surrounded his berth.

“Moving around will do you some good, so I don’t see why not. Just let me know where you’ll be, and if anything and I mean _anything_ happens, you comm me _immediately.”_

So Prowl sat on the roof of the citadel, leaning against the glass dome that was the towering roof of the main hall. He stared out at the fields of blue flowers, disrupted intermittently by pedestals, some with the holographic statues, some without. He tapped his fingers against his chest plates, doing his best to ignore the way his spark would periodically pulse for others, yet there was always a complete lack of response _(because they’re gone)._

He shifted slightly, sitting forward a bit and abandoning his _tap tap tap_ ’ing in favor of hugging a leg to his chassis, and picked at the transformation seams in his leg instead, resting his head on his knee. The star that the Necroworld rotated around was setting, causing the pedestals to cast long shadows across the fields, and the sky to be painted in warm, soft colors.

“Prowl?” _Nautica._ He twitched his doorwings in response, turning his head slightly to see the Camien walking towards him. “Velocity told me I’d find you up here.” _Of course she did._

After a moment, giving his sluggish processor time to think over his response, he opened his mouth, “Has Velocity decided that I need a sparkling sitter, then?” Nautica sat down next to him, dangling her legs over the edge of the roof.

“No, I was asking if you were ready to see anybody yet, and she told me I could find you here.”

“So you’re the reason Velocity kept asking if I’d see any visitors yet?” Nautica shrugged, keeping her optics focused on the horizon, refusing to meet Prowl’s gaze, no matter how intensely he stared.

“I suppose,” she said nonchalantly. “It’s not as if you didn’t give me reason to be worried about you.”

“You’re always worried about me - I think you’ve asked me if I’m okay more in the past two years we’ve been on the _Lost Light_ than I think I’ve been asked in the four million preceding it.”

Nautica finally turned her head and met his optics, a soft, conflicted smile her face and - “That’s my brand, I suppose,” - she was missing her left optic.

“Your optic,” he started with a frown, making a vague gesture at his own face to articulate.

Nautica laughed, pointing at his own face, “We’re really twinning now, you have one of your own!” Prowl shuttered his optics - _optic?_ \- and lifted a hand to his face, trailing light fingers over the patch on his own left optic. He suddenly remembered what Velocity had said before Getaway had called - _‘Left optic’s blown out too.’_

“I didn’t notice,” he muttered, suddenly hyper-aware of the slight skew of the world - he must’ve recalibrated at some point, easily explaining why he hadn’t noticed when he woke up.

“There weren’t any spare lenses in the medbay we found, and Brainstorm’s been put to task on finding us a way home rather than synthesizing any new ones,” she explained.

“And his last attempt worked out so brilliantly, didn’t it?” he asked bitingly, frowning again. 

Nautica’s small smile disappeared at his words, and she seemed to deflate as she sighed. “Yeah, it was… definitely a frag up, but I don’t think all the blame can be laid on Stormy, a lot of people were at fault in some way or another.” They sat in silence for another moment before she continued. “Are you okay?”

He paused. “I’m fine.” Nautica looked at him incredulously.

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one - I’d thought we’d moved past this. Anyone with functioning optics could see that you’re very extremely _not fine.”_ Prowl looked at her for a moment before making a vague gesture at her one (singular) optic. “You know what I mean, don’t try and change the topic.” He averted his gaze.

“How could I possibly not be fine?” he asked, trying to seem as if he didn’t want to shrink into his armor. “Mecha have left me before, and I’ve always been fine, why would I not be fine now?”

“Because you loved them, didn’t you?” He froze, glancing at her sharply in his peripheral vision.

“That’s a bold assumption,” Prowl said _(not)_ defensively. “I gave up caring for people that deeply a long time ago. Not bestowing that kind of trust to anyone is why I’m still alive, so why start?”

Nautica flicked his shoulder pauldron, shifting closer and wrapping him in her EM field, radiating _understanding_ of all things. “You don’t court with mecha for months on end with caring for them on at least some level. You don’t merge with mecha enough to get sparked without trusting them at least a little bit.” She smirked. “You _definitely_ don’t get caught making out with mecha in corridor E2 on the twenty-third level without caring for them.”

_“Once.”_ Nautica laughed.

“But my point is that you definitely cared for them. They certainly loved you and made no effort to even try and disguise that fact, but I’m also fairly certain that you love them.”

“You sound awfully certain of an opinion for which you have no proof.”

“Who said I had no proof?” Nautica asked smugly. “I’m a scientist, Prowl, being able to make observations is imperative to what I do, and noticing things about you definitely wasn’t difficult.” He made no response, and Nautica took it as license to continue. “You treat them with patience and understanding you certainly don’t give anyone else, and you listen to and acknowledge them more than anyone else you interact with as well. When you look at them, it’s you get this soft look on your face, and you’re also much more open with them than you are with most people - you don’t interact with them stone-faced or anything, you smile, you laugh, you give them your input in a not-mean way, which is definitely something for you.”

“Stop it, I get the point,” Prowl muttered, looking away from Nautica sullenly.

“No, you don’t. When they asked to live with you, as I hear it, you said ‘yes,’ no hesitation, and even negotiated with Ultra Magnus to get quarters big enough to fit all six of you comfortably - you put in _effort_ to be closer to them, and you trusted them enough to decide that you would stay with them every night, and it’s especially notable considering that your factions were at war not even four years ago.”

“Shut up, Nautica,” he growled lowly.

“When you first talked to me about the Constructicons, you told me that they were annoying, and that while they might be your gestalt, they certainly weren’t your sparkmates. Look at how much that changed in a year - you moved from not even being willing to give them the time of day to living with them, having your date nights on a regular basis. You went from not caring a bit about how your actions would impact them to telling people ‘no’ because you had made promises to them and that you were looking forward to whatever you six were doing that night.”

_“Stop talking,”_ he snapped. Nautica narrowed her eyes at him and only talked faster.

“You found out that they’d sparked you, and you’re definitely not the type of mech to keep a newspark simply because you care about life and all that - you didn’t ask Velocity for a reabsorption right away, you _thought_ about it, and you had to have no known that no matter how you kept it, everyone would know that it’s the Constructicons, which means that all the time you spent _thinking_ about it you were thinking about a future with _them,_ not a future all alone because you wouldn’t get close to them, but a future _with_ the Constructicons. You _thought_ about it, you don’t consider a future _that_ committed with mecha you’re passively interested in, or who are just a convenience. You cared for and trusted them on a level you’ve never reached with _anyone_ before, and now that they’re gone you’re just too scared to admit just how much they meant to you, because you’ve convinced yourself that feeling any kind of attachment is weak, because you’re scared that admitting how much they meant to you is like an admission of being _weak,_ and _Primus forbid the great and mighty Prowl_ -”

“FRAG IT, NAUTICA, YOU WIN!” he snapped, batting her away as she had been leaning closer and closer as her voice rose in intensity. “I _LOVE_ THEM, OKAY?!” he admitted, field flaring out aggressively as his doorwings hiked up on his back defensively.

Silence reigned over the area, not a sound heard except the harsh blow of Prowl’s vents and slight clatter of his plating as he trembled, even as he tried to restrain the emotional response.

“I love them,” he repeated, voice lowered to an almost inaudible level. “I love them, and now they’re gone, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he whispered as if sharing a shameful secret. “I can’t do anything to fix this, and everybody else is moving on just fine from what I hear, so I can only try to match their pace. I’ve never given anyone a reason to think I have a spark before, how can I start now? Fine is all I can be.”

Nautica looked at him for a long moment, an indefinable expression on her face. “When the bond snapped, you were dying,” she began quietly, turning to stare at the endless fields of blue flowers. Prowl felt his plating settle as his optics snapped to her face. “Velocity managed to explain some of what happened to me afterward. The bond with the Constructicons snapped, and your spark tried to follow, and almost burned itself out when it did so. In some sort of weird turnaround, instead of the backlash causing the newspark to be reabsorbed, the newspark tried to absorb _you.”_ She paused, venting for a second before she tilted her head back to look him in the optic. “You were guttering, so Velocity called for someone to donate spark energy, and I volunteered. I jump-started your spark, Prowl, I saw it flicker and fade, but I also saw it come _back._ If there’s another thing I can say with any certainty, it’s that you definitely have a spark.”

She paused for a second, breaking her optic contact with Prowl to look up at the stars in the beginning of the night sky. “It’s almost poetic, in a tragic and demented way. Those you tied yourself to disappeared, so the future you hoped for almost extinguished you.” She tilted her head back to look at Prowl again. “We can and will get them back. I’m not letting you die before you see them again.”

He chuckled darkly after a beat. “I aspire to reach that level of positivity, but I’m probably never going to. And think about it - just because I have a spark doesn’t mean that it’s not going to be difficult to go back down and face everybody moving on as if everything is _fine.”_ Nautica wrapped her arms around Prowl’s shoulders, tugging him in and just… _holding_ him. “What are you doing?”

“Why do you continue to say you’re fine?” she countered easily. Prowl scowled and tried to pull away, though she refused to relinquish her hold.

“Because being _fine_ is the only way I can see them again, I don’t have time to waste not being on the same level as everybody else.” Nautica paused for a moment as she listened, but only held him tighter as a result.

“You’re not fine. You’re not okay.”

“I’m fine.”

_“Don’t lie to me.”_

“I need to keep up, if everybody else has moved on, then so have I.”

“Since when have you cared about fitting in with everybody else, going at another’s pace?”

“Nautica, let go -”

“No.”

“I don’t need this -”

_“Yes you do,”_ Nautica asserted forcefully, a tone of finality clear in her vocalizer. Prowl fell silent, but remained stiff and unmoving in her arms. “Prowl, you just lost five mecha who are _incredibly_ important to you, whom you’ve just admitted to me that you _love._ You don’t just bounce back from something like that. Primus knows I haven’t.” _Skids,_ Prowl remembered suddenly. Velocity had mentioned his death in a clipped, forcedly professional tone - Skids and Nautica had always been good friends. “I’m not okay, you’re not okay, I don’t think any of us are okay. You’re all just skilled at burying everything after four million years of war - nobody here is okay, everybody is just really good at _hiding things.”_ Nautica paused a second, taking in a shaky vent, tucking her chin into the crook of Prowl’s neck. “I don’t know what you’ve learned after fighting and losing people for that long, but I’m telling you right here and now that it’s okay to not be okay. The best we can do is be there for each other, and both acknowledge that we’re definitely _not fine.”_

After a long pause, Prowl relaxed into the embrace, and slowly wrapped his arms around Nautica in turn.

“I guess we just have to be not okay together, then,” he mumbled after a few minutes. He watched as the propellers on her back fluttered in mirth as she stifled her laughter.

“Sounds like a promise,” she responded easily.

* * *

When Rodimus announced that they were getting off of Necroworld and going after the _Lost Light,_ after _Getaway_ (the aft whose actions had taken everything from him), Prowl knew he’d go. He’d never done well staying _stagnant,_ staying still in the same place for extended periods - metaphorically and literally. It always gave him far too much time to dwell on his thoughts.

Prowl also knew that the sooner they were back on the _Lost Light,_ the sooner that they could devise a way to find his gestalt and _get them back._

Velocity and Ratchet were against it - Kaput said nothing, too fresh out of war to yet see him as something other than an intimidating mecha of high command - saying that he shouldn’t put himself in that kind of precarious situation, that he was lucky to be alive as it was. In a moment of blunt honesty that he hadn’t meant to happen, he told them that the longer he didn’t have the Constructicons back, the longer he went without reason to appreciate that luck.

Nautica said nothing but extended a warm flare of her field to him when he signed on.

He wasn’t okay - but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi welcome to angst weekly, the story that will be taking the place of over to you for the next few chapters.
> 
> Anyway, you might've noticed that this story is part of a series now (and if you didn't, well now you know!) - so if you're in the mood for some tonal whiplash or you're missing that good Constructicon content(tm), I've officially uploaded the first chapter of Courting Gifts, the Constructicon miniseries that I've been talking about that takes place during a small period of that massive time skip between chapter 6 and 7. It's not as thought out as this series, and chapters will be significantly shorter than what is common for this fic, but it's meant to be more of a fun, short side story. With every new chapter of over to you, there will be a new chapter of courting gifts, and I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've been chasing after Getaway and the mutineer crew of the Lost Light for several months - but once again, things begin to go very wrong, very quickly.
> 
> A transitional interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: a new chapter only like two days after the previous one!  
> Fans: !!!!!  
> Me: but its more of a really short interlude/transition than anything  
> Fans: :((((

Several months on a cramped Decepticon-corpse-spaceship and Prowl was almost ready to jump out the airlock (not that the dumpster they were traveling in had one). The keyword there was ‘almost’. There were only three things keeping him from following through: One, he had no way to get to the _Lost Light_ otherwise, two, he knew that floating in endless space would be more boring than staring at the same wall for months on end, and three, he had few doubts that Nautica and Velocity would commandeer the ship just to turn it around and fish him out (the two of them had become almost overbearingly overprotective).

On the bright side, at least it would be quieter.

“Freedom is the right of all sentient - _What the hell is that?!”_

_“Pyro!”_ Nautica exclaimed excitedly at Brainstorm’s invention. “I’ve read about him…!”

Prowl cycled his optics - he personally found the ‘Early Warning Device’ a bit redundant (it always started working _after_ something) - and simply leant back against the wall, relaxing as much as he could into the section of stairs that he had claimed as his own perch.

Prowl was personally impressed that Nautica was still able to enjoy things and engage in interactions so easily - after the first few weeks, Prowl felt as if ever seeing any of the ‘bots on board again would be too soon.

Despite the lack of progress he felt was being made, at least it was better than sitting around on the Necroworld, twiddling his thumbs.

_“-RR_ **_RRRGGGH!”_ **

Prowl snapped upright along with everybody else at the reverberating noise, immediately looking towards the source as all of the chatter in the room came to a stop.

“What was _that?!”_ Roller asked after a moment, rubbing his audials.

“It sounded like Cyclonus…” Ratchet muttered.

“Aw _hell,”_ Whirl cursed, looking fully ready to tear into the flight cabin before Cyclonus himself emerged, shadows covering his face. Prowl instinctively pushed himself up a few levels higher on the stairway. There was a tense silence about the room until -

_KLAAANG_

\- Anode went _flying into Cyclonus’ back._

She fell to the floor, and Cyclonus began drawing his sword with a low, dark growl escaping his vocalizer, giving Prowl a split second to consider what had happened to make the normally calm and collected mech act in such a way?

_“Anode!”_ Swerve cried. _“THE SWORD!_ **_LOOK OUT!”_ **

Anode gasped as the words processed, and she quickly threw herself into a forward roll to avoid the falling blade, but it only kept going and ended up -

_“UHH!”_

**_“REWIND!”_ **

Cyclonus’ optics widened as Chromedome caught Rewind as he fell, dropping the sword to the ground. Prowl could hear Nautica’s startled vent clearly. Velocity didn’t hesitate and immediately rushed over, kneeling as Chromedome lowered Rewind to the floor.

“His primary fuel line has been severed. He’s losing a lot of energon.”

“It was not my intention to -”

**_“Shut up!”_ ** Chromedome snapped, spinning around to point accusingly at Cyclonus, plating flaring out aggressively. “Just _shut up!_ Swear to God if you’ve _hurt_ him…”

“He’ll survive,” Velocity offered timidly, clearly not eager to get pulled into the confrontation - Anode and Swerve were simultaneously having their own little realization/tiff together, but Prowl had decided months ago that the less attention he paid to the two, the better off he was.

“Of course he will,” Cyclonus muttered. “He always does.”

“Oh,” Chromedome hissed, right up in the sword mechs face (a small part of Prowl’s mind, the tiny part not occupied with the dangerous and escalating situation in front of him, wondered how many funerals this was going to end up in). “Oh, I know what this is about. I know _exactly_ what this is about. You’re _jealous.”_

“Of?”

“Me and Rewind. We have what you _don’t_ have. What you’ll _never_ have.”

“You have _nothing,”_ Cyclonus hissed darkly, demeanor suddenly regressing to what it had been only moments earlier. “You _think_ you do, but it’s not real. Because when it’s real, it _hurts.”_

“I’ll show you what _hurts…”_ Chromedome responded agitatedly.

“Can we all just _calm down?”_ Ratchet interjected loudly - an oddly _grey_ Ratchet, but being the least bizarre development in the situation, Prowl simply filed it away in his processor to worry about later. “We’ve been cooped up for too long that’s all,” he decreed, placing himself between the two mechs who looked more than ready to tear each other apart. “If anyone wants to gith, they’ll have to go through me!”

And the oddest thing that happened next was that Chromedome, quite literally, _went through Ratchet._ Prowl felt his processor stall as he watched the mnemosurgeon’s arm just phase through the medic, nailing Cyclonus’ jaw.

_How the actual frag did they get into this situation?_

“Back off, Chromedome,” Whirl said solemnly, easily pushing the incensed mech away. “This has nothing to do with you.” Once Chromedome spun back around to fret over Rewind in a huff, he turned back to talk to Cyclonus, but Prowl wasn’t able to catch his next words because suddenly everything started to get worse.

“Drift… Velocity… Anyone... “ Ratchet suddenly started. “I appear to be _sinking…”_

And Prowl barely even had time to think about _that_ situation before Roller brought up even worse news.

“Er, guys…?” he started, suddenly having to lean down and push himself up as the ceiling started retracting. “Please - urgh! - tell me the room isn’t getting _smaller…”_

“He’s right! The mass displacement override is wearing off!” Rodimus called. “We’re _shrinking!”_

And the room erupted into a loud pandemonium (Prowl couldn’t even hear himself _think)._

He could only bring himself to belatedly hope that maybe there just might be a passing ship in their particular section of space that would be willing to pick up stranded _Cybertronians._ (He didn’t need to be able to hear his thought to know that the chances of that happening were close enough to zero for him to rule it out as impossible.)

_“THAT’S_ **_ENOUGH!”_ ** an unfamiliar voice sounded

A dead silence fell across the (shrinking) ship as everybody started at Ten.

“We don’t have much time,” the normally monosyllabic legislator said. “The fate of the universe depends on you doing _exactly_ I say. Ratchet needs urgent medical attention.” Prowl felt as if pointing out that Ratchet was basically a spark ghost by then was not going to be received well, but it was beside the point. “We need to get him to a _pathohub_ \- ideally one of the _Mederi centers.”_

“Sorry,” Roller interrupted, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, “what’s this - urrgh! - got to do with the fate of the universe?”

“I think he said that just to get everyone’s attention,” Rung said.

“He got our attention just by _speaking!”_

“Yeah,” Nightbeat agreed easily, “and is it me, or does his voice sound… different?”

“I’m at least seventy percent sure that it sounds different because he’s saying something other than ‘ten’ all the time,” Prowl offered.

“Maybe,” was the skeptical reply.

“Ten - buddy -” Rodimus interrupted, redirecting the conversation, “- unless there’s a _hospital outside that window,_ I don’t see how we can save him,” he challenged, ever the optimist.

“I can tell you how to take a shortcut - but we need to act quickly,” Ten responded easily. “Brainstorm, Nautica -” the two mecha in question perked up at being mentioned, “- if we modify the engines we can travel quickly through compressed space, and -”

“What are we waiting for?” Brainstorm chirped, skipping ahead and dragging Ten along by the arm, Nautica easily following. “No time to waste, survival is on the line, chop-chop get to work!”

The team of scientists and a few volunteers to assist quickly disappeared into the engine rooms, leaving the rest of them to panickedly coordinate their futile efforts to keep the ship from getting any smaller.

Prowl knew his vents were speeding up as dug his heels into the floor, pressing his back against the wall (though he knew it was to little effect - he could feel his feet slowly skidding along with the metal). He brought a hand up to tap against his midriff - a new tick (Velocity kept calling it a ‘nervous habit’) he had developed that replaced drumming his fingers over his spark ever since his gestation chamber had swollen enough that Velocity and Ratchet felt the need to loosen his abdominal plating.

A few minutes later (and never had Prowl actually felt thankful for Brainstorm’s genius (not that he’d ever say it to the scientist’s face) and deft hands) the ship lurched - a quick look out the window, the blurring of the lights and wrongness of the color spectrum, confirmed that they were definitely going fast through _something_ \- most likely the compressed space that Ten had mentioned.

But the ship was shrinking, and it was shrinking fast - they hadn’t even been through the ‘shortcut’ for more than a few moments before the ceiling was low enough that everyone had to lay on the floor, and Prowl had to spare a thought about whether the large mecha like Ultra Magnus and Roller were being _crushed._ The experience (if he even survived) was probably enough to give him claustrophobia for the foreseeable future.

“Everyone out!” Rodimus called after a few moments more. “Abandon Skip!” And Prowl had absolutely _no_ objections to that order, following everybody else as they crawled out the one exit the dinky little vessel-corpse had.

It was a startling moment as everything went silent. It had been long enough since Prowl had been in open space that he had to remind himself that sound didn’t travel - but it hadn’t been long enough for Prowl to not immediately recognize that it was _wrong._ He could see the faces of others mirror what his own surely looked like, mouth pulled open in a soundless scream of agony as the pressure of the compressed space shortcut made him feel like he was being simultaneously pulled apart and crushed.

He could feel his processor become lighter and lighter and stared unseeingly at the stars surrounding him as his vision fritzed for a few seconds before finally falling black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so this chapter is more of a transition to the final arc of this series and Lost Light itself. it's literally the only one I haven't outlined, simply because it doesn't fit well with the other chunks I split the series into, and I also don't have much to say on it, but it needed to be done to progress the plot so.... yeah :/  
> I think this is the shortest chapter I've written for this fic, bc yikes.  
> (tl;dr - i didn't want to write this chapter because i found the content boring)
> 
> anyway, a fun question about a thought I had while responding to comments last chapter - if I were to write a director's (or writers or authors or annotated or whatever I don't care) commentary on the fic to release when this fic is finished (really just me answering important questions such as 'what the fuck?' and 'why would you do this to us?'), comprising of comments and what first drafts were like, plot changes, and cut scenes (because the way this fic played out actually changed a lot in quite a few places from how it was originally planned) - would people be interested in that? would they even want it? or should I just not because this isn't a feature-length film gOD
> 
> anyway, the only really notable thing here is the new chapter of Courting Gifts! So - go - check - that - out! This time, it's Bonecrusher with guest star 'Not Paid Enough To Deal With This Many Emotionally-Stunted Idiots' Whirl!
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl wakes up in the Afterspark - and it's not exactly what he was expecting.

_He could feel his processor become lighter and lighter and stared unseeingly at the stars surrounding him as his vision fritzed for a few seconds before finally falling black._

* * *

Prowl snapped online, shooting upright as he suddenly returned to himself - where was he? His optic began to scan the dull metallic grey of the room he had onlined in. Before he had passed out, he was… where had he been? _Compressed space,_ that was it! But then, where were all the other mechs who had been on board?

A bold fear gripped his spark - what if they’d gotten picked up by some organics hostile to Cybertronians (it was extremely rare to find any who _weren’t),_ and this was just a prison cell he was being held in before -

“Oh, hey Prowl,” Nightbeat said, interrupting his spiraling train of thought as he popped his head into the room through an open doorway he had somehow noticed. “You getting up?”

“Me ‘n Nightbeat are looking for some of the others,” Brainstorm piped in from outside.

“I -” Prowl cycled his optics, pausing for a moment - he could get out, that gave him options. Options he could work with. No reason to panic. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he replied, swinging his legs over the edge of the berth and walking quickly to keep pace with Nightbeat and Brainstorm as they moved on to the next room, determinedly not thinking about the way his hand drifted up and began _tap tap tap_ ing against his abdomen.

 _“Uh-oh!”_ Prowl twitched as they turned into the next room. At least it wasn’t doing famous voices anymore - _that_ had gotten extremely annoying very quickly. _“Uh-oh!”_

Nautica looked up from where she was studying the inscriptions along the border of the slab in her room (and wasn’t it a relief to see Nautica? He was pretty sure Brainstorm didn’t like him, and Nightbeat didn’t particularly seem to care for other mecha unless they posed a mystery) at the sound. “You’ve restored it to its factory settings…” she said mock disappointedly. Brainstorm simply narrowed his optics at the object in question.

“My early _Early Warning Device?_ Yeah, I was trying to turn it down. It won’t -”

_“Uh-oh!”_

“- shut up.”

“Heh,” Nautica chuckled, smiling at them. “It’s good to see you guys.”

Nightbeat gave a slight nod in acknowledgment as he walked over, kneeling near to look at the markings that Nautica was examining. “They were on my slab, too.”

“They’re ideograms,” she explained. “It’s an extract from the _Primal Sacrament:_ the origin - _an_ origin, I suppose I should say - of _The Guiding Hand.”_ She squinted and peered closer at the glyphs, tracing her fingers over them as she attempted to translate. “It says… It says Primus felt… and urgency? An urgency or suddenness. ‘An urgency in his body, something hot and twisted and rootless: a nest of sparks. Without hesitation he broke apart his body, giving the lives inside him full force of expression. And so _one_ became _five:_ Mortilus… Solomus… Primus… Epistemus… Adaptus.’”

“The Neoprimalist version is a lot wordier,” Nightbeat commented. “And a lot more allegorical,”

“See this ideogram here?” Nautica asked, pointing to a cluster of particularly complex glyphs near the head of the berth. “And this one? I’ve only ever seen them in connection with _Clavis Aurea_ religious order.” Brainstorm scoffed derisively.

“The Clavis Aurea is a cult - or rather it _was._ I challenge you to find _anyone_ who still takes the creation story liter-”

 **_“Hey!”_ ** Drift called excitedly, popping his head in with a large grin on his face. “Everyone stop what they’re doing and come outside _right now!”_

“Ask and ye shall receive,” Prowl muttered under his breath to the scientist.

“Oh, shut it.”

* * *

“I’m _telling_ you - compressed space _killed_ us, and now that we’re dead, we’ve migrated to the Afterspark!” Drift exclaimed, gesticulating wildly to emphasize his point to an unimpressed Prowl and Brainstorm as they walked.

“I can remember giving Skip’s engines a boost, but after that, nothing,” Brainstorm remarked mildly before looking up from his Early Warning Device to scrutinize Drift. “How come you’ve got _total recall_ and I haven’t?”

“I think it’s because I’m more _attuned_ to _liminal space;_ more adept at straddling multiple planes of existence,” Drift beamed. “All those years of keeping a _dream journal_ have finally paid off.”

“On a more personal level,” Prowl started, “I think it can be chalked up to both of you having a few crossed wires in your processors.” Brainstorm narrowed his optics critically at Prowl.

“Just for that, I’m gonna side with Drift out of spite.”

“Glitch.”

“Oh, come off it,” Drift interrupted. “Aren’t you two _excited?”_

“Not really.”

“That sweet heat in your circuitry? That sublime charge? That’s _Primus_ \- the _Celestial Architect_ \- the _Mechanica Divine!”_

“Is Drift getting off on this?” Prowl asked lowly to Brainstorm, who simply shrugged.

“We’re treading the same hallowed ground as _The Guiding Hand!”_ he ended with what almost amounted to a tiny little squeal. “I cannot _wait_ to see Ratchet’s face…” he muttered excitedly.

“Here’s a preview,” Brainstorm offered, gesturing to his face. 

“You’re saying he’ll look frightened and confused?”

 _“Skeptical!”_ Brainstorm napped. “He’ll look _skeptical!”_

“Oh,” Drift answered blandly. “Sorry. The mouthplate makes it hard to -”

“Oi, don’t _face-shame_ me…!” Brainstorm growled at Drift, who held his hands up placatingly. “... face-shamer,” he finished lowly after a moment.

“Right, you two stop badgering each other -”

“Oh, like you weren’t doing it too!”

“- and pay attention,” Prowl said, pointing a thumb as they caught up with Nautica and Nightbeat. “Incoming.” Brainstorm squinted for a moment, then held up a telescope apparatus to his optic.

“Nah,” he countered after a few seconds. “Not incoming, it’s just Roller on a motorcycle.”

“Look who I’ve found, guys!” the aforementioned exclaimed as the vehicles he was on skidded to a stop and transformed. **_“Springarm!”_ ** he called enthusiastically, throwing an arm around the smaller mech’s shoulders. “Springarm was an officer, like me. We worked together in Rodion.”

“Worked and died,” Springarm chirped. “Well, I died. Decapitated, before you ask. Hrrk!” he mimed the action with his hand, and the conflict in Natuica’s field was palpable at the gesture.

“I was still on secondment in Tesk when Kroma attacked the precinct. If I’d known…” Roller trailed off solemnly.

“But how _could_ you have known?” Springarm asked softly.

“Yes, but not being there when you -”

“Roller…”

“Not being there when you and Wheelarch needed me most…” Springarm stood up on the tips of his pede, gently cupping Roller’s face in his hands. Brainstorm and Prowl traded an awkward look.

 _“Roller,”_ Springarm began. “Primus isn’t the only one who can forgive. Now, come on…” the smaller mecha said, stepping back and transforming. “Let’s get you some fresh _K-juice_ and get going.”

“Get going _where?”_ Roller asked confusedly, but already mounting the other ‘bot. “Aren’t we _already_ in the Afterspark?”

“The Afterspark is as multifaceted as the Matrix itself…” Springarm educated, revving his engine as he drove off. “... And a house is more than its door.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause as they all stewed over the events that just occurred.

“Er…” Brainstorm started awkwardly. “Bye then.”

“Did that conversation even have a purpose?” Prowl asked confusedly as Nautica called after the other two.

 _“Roller!”_ she shouted at the disappearing forms in the distance. “We’re on our way to meet Magnus and the others. Wouldn’t you rather…?” she trailed off as she realized they weren’t coming back, and huffed agitatedly.

“Ouch!” Brainstorm exclaimed, causing the other four mecha to turn and look at him in surprise as he dropped his Early Warning Device to the ground with a clatter. “Overheated,” he explained in response to their confused/concerned looks. “It’s never done _that_ before,” he said contemplatively as he looked down at the lightly smoking device. “I’m sure it’s a good sign.”

* * *

 ** _“Lug of Celestica Tetracornica-Caprica!”_ ** Nautica shouted in remand as they approached the temple that Brainstorm’s Early Warning Device led them to. “Stealing! From a place of worship! In the afterlife!” she continued even as Anode flew herself and Lug to the ground. “Appalling.”

“Jees, what’s up with all the _judgment?”_ Anode asked. “Who died and put you in charge?”

“Everybody,” Nautica responded tersely. “Everybody died. That’s the whole -” she took a vent, visibly trying to not think about it that much, “- that’s why we’re here.”

“One,” Anode began immediately, starting to count her points off on her fingers. “I’m not convinced we’re dead. Two. If we _are,_ I’m not convinced this is _the Afterspark._ Three. If it _is,_ I’m not convinced that I’ve broken the rules. And four, if I _have,_ what does it matter? We’re dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Nightbeat said, turning away from Anode, “I can’t watch logic being abused in this way.”

“Look,” Anode started, “I know _doing the right thing_ is your _number one pastime,_ but other people are allowed to have hobbies too - like collecting precious metal.”

“I think the verb you’re looking for is _purloining.”_

 _“Soft ununtrium_ goes for a bomb these days. Even a _smidge_ \- even a _smudge_ \- would set me and lug up for life. We’d be happy! Why do you hate happiness, Nautica?” Anode asked caustically. “What’s happiness ever done to you, apart from avoid you?”

“It’s not about wealth -” Lug interrupted before Nautica could retaliate, “- it’s about _security._ It’s about having enough money to _settle down._ It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“What now, poppet?” Anode asked, pulling Lug in close and kissing the top of her head.

“That floating Matrix - the one we saw when we woke up. Closer look?”

“Ooh, good idea. Although I don’t know if there’s much of a market for _blue crystal…”_ she mumbled, but broke away from the embrace and looked back at the rest of them as Lug transformed and attached to her back. “Coming?”

“After we’ve explored the temple,” Nautica said, pointing at the structure. “Brainstorm’s Early Warning Device is leading us astray.”

“How does it even work?”

“It’s like a metal detector for danger,” Brainstorm explained, holding up his invention excitedly. “You’re actually supposed to move _away_ from the source.”

“What can I say?” Nautica asked, turning to look at them, not noticing as Anode shrugged and took off, interest gone. “Me and Nightbeat, we’re creatures of curiosity. Isn’t that right Nightbeat?” The aforementioned mech had wandered a few paces away and was examining something he held in his hand. “Nightbeat?” Nautica called again.

“You guys go on without me,” Nightbeat replied distractedly, not even looking at them as he started to wander away. “I’ll catch up. I’ve got some _breadcrumbs_ to follow…”

“Oh,” Nautica said confusedly, waving at Nightbeat’s retreating back. “Right. Bye then.”

 _“Huh,”_ Brainstorm stated confusedly. “And then there were -”

**_ZZZAP_ **

They stared at the smoking mark where Drift had just been standing.

“- three.”

* * *

“First _Nightbeat,_ then _Drift…”_ Brainstorm contemplated as they opened the doors of the temple. “It’s as if someone wants us to turn back.”

“Do you want to turn back?” Nautica asked, pausing in the doorway. “Have you had enough?”

“Er, you’re talking to someone who built four thousand and nine non-functional time machines,” Brainstorm countered, easily following behind Nautica. “I don’t give up easily.”

Prowl simply cycled his optics and trailed behind the other two.

“Good. We just need to keep our heads down and plow on,” Nautica declared determinedly. “Thankfully, all the surprises so far seem to be _nice ones.”_

“It’s not as if they could kill us,” Prowl remarked blandly, as they turned the corner and Brainstorm dropped his Early Warning Device in surprise at the sight of the other mech - Prowl wasn’t sure if he’d seen the other before, but brushed it aside as Brainstorm recollected himself.

 **_“Quark?!”_ ** he exclaimed, optics wide and bright.

“Brainstorm,” the other mech (Quark) greeted. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to see you.”

“You _waited?”_ Brainstorm asked breathlessly as Quark approached him. “For _me?”_

“I refused to ascend without my sparkmate,” the smaller mech said softly, pressing his hand against Brainstorm’s chest plates. Prowl and Nautica shared an awkward look - the moment felt weirdly intimate, in a similar fashion to when they had seen Roller and Springarm earlier.

“But we never - you never -” Brainstorm spluttered. “... Are we sparkmates now?”

“If you’ll do me the honor.”

 _“Man,_ this is a lot to take in,” Brainstorm muttered, leaning against the wall.

“I know. Come on.”

“Where?”

“The Matrix. Walk with me and I’ll explain everything.” Brainstorm followed Quark’s insistent tugging with what looked to be little resistance.

“You’re going too?!” Nautica called at him incredulously.

“See you later,” Brainstorm responded.

“But -“

“Be careful, Nautica. I mean it.” And then he was gone.

“Certainly something to be said for the power of not giving up easily,” Prowl said after a moment of silence. Nautica elbowed him sharply in the side, leaning down to pick up the Early Warning Device.

“That just means it’s up to us to figure it out then,” she said. Prowl shrugged and followed her indulgently, and they were just coming upon a door marked ‘DANGER: DO NOT ENTER’ when -

“Carrier?”

Prowl froze, and he could absently feel Nautica do the same next to him. He slowly turned around, optics snapping into focus on the small frame rubbing it’s optics tiredly as it wobbled towards him. After a moment, he slowly knelt down, extending his arms out towards the sparkling - his sparkling?

The bitlet toddled towards him with renewed determination, green doorwings too large for his frame swinging awkwardly with each step, a look of all-too-familiar resolve shining in his red optics. Black and green plating settled easily against his, eagerly complying as Prowl scooped him up and cradled him against his chest. It made sense when he thought about it for longer than a moment - if he was dead, then the tiny spark riding along his own would be, too.

“Carrier?” came the small voice again. Prowl felt a rush of emotion at the sound - all too quick for him to identify any of the flickering feelings in his mind. “Carrier, why you sad?”

Prowl curled over the small protoform in his arms, a long, high keen escaping from his vocalizer even as he tried to suppress the sound. A tiny hand dug into the grill of his bumper, the other easily latching onto his transformation seams.

“I’ll just be over there,” he heard Nautica say gently, though he offered no response to her fading footsteps.

“Carrier, don’t be sad. If you sad, then sires sad, then we _all_ sad.”

Prowl paused, processing his sparkling’s _(his sparkling)_ words. “Sires?” he repeated, a sort of tired, renewed hope tone escaping his crackling vocalizer.

“Heya, Prowl.”

He looked up - slowly, as slowly as he could let himself at the achingly familiar voice.

“Miss us?”

Five hulking, industrial green and purple frames were in front of him - he didn’t know how he hadn’t heard them approaching, he didn’t even know why they were _there_ in the Afterspark, and he quite particularly didn’t care. Just to see them _there,_ just to even see them again was… Prowl wasn’t exactly sure of the words he would use to describe the feeling, but he reached out for them, one arm keeping his - _their_ sparkling close to his chest, the other desperately pressing against their plating as they knelt down around him, pulling into a sprawl across their laps, just to make sure that they were _there,_ that it was _real._

He couldn’t stop the shaky, staticy sob that escaped his vocalizer at the feeling of five powerful engines rumbling heartily around him, the warmth of their frames, and the added feeling of the tiny engine, so near his own, that gave an excited little rev as jubilation that exploded across his field.

Prowl pushed his doorwings back into their exploring hands, offering no resistance as they pressed closer into him. He felt a tension he didn’t even realize he had drained away as he was surrounded by his gestalt - and he relaxed exhaustedly into their embrace.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, sluggishly nuzzling a hand that had wandered up to caress his face. “Jus’ want to go to berth now.”

“‘S okay to be tired,” Scavenger replied easily.

“Yeah, we got you, Prowl,” Bonecrusher added.

“It’s okay to go to let go,” Hook assured, right next to his audial.

“We’ll catch you. Always,” Mixmaster whispered.

“Right here for you,” Long Haul finished.

Prowl purred his engine, sinking into their hold, a scant smile teasing at lips, but -

“Wait,” he muttered, making them pause. “Something I gotta tell you.”

He paused for a brief moment, considering the best way to articulate his words, and then -

 _:: I love you. ::_ He pulsed the feelings and words through his spark as clearly as he could, feeling as if a weight lifted from his shoulders, relaxing back into their embrace.

…

“Prowl?” He onlined his optics, looking into the confused red optics hovering above his own. “You said you had something to say, don’t go recharging on us,” Bonecrusher said jokingly.

Prowl could feel his optic ridges screw together as he felt confusion begin to brush away his tiredness slowly. “I said it over the…” he brushed against the five sparks pulsing against his - or he would have if they were _there,_ “...bond.” His spark felt empty, cold - the same as it had been since he woke from stasis several months prior. “Why can’t I feel you across the bond?”

_KSSK_

Prowl flinched at the noise, and scrambled back and away from the Constructicons as they - glitched?

_KSSK_

... And disappeared.

Prowl drew his doorwings back, all sense of being able to sleep chased away by a new feeling of alertness. He held his sparkling against his chest defensively as he -

A weak feeling of _wrong / different / revulsion_ brushed against his spark, and Prowl froze.

“Carrier?” a tiny voice sounded, one his coding had begun to label as _wrong._ “Carrier happy yet?”

Shakily, Prowl drew his sparkling away from his chest, brushing his finger against the central seams of the chest plate of his sparkling, in the same fashion he had seen in one of Velocity’s books about sparkling care, in a chapter about spark health. The plating parted easily, giving way to pulsing blue glow.

_Wrong / different / revulsion_

He turned around to look at Nautica as

_KSSK KSSK_

Skids glitched and disappeared. Nautica stared at the spot the other ‘bot had just stood, before slowly raising her optics to lock with Prowl’s.

“You saw that right?” she asked.

“More than once,” he muttered. “Nautica, I need you to check something for me.” He allowed his own chest plates to split, bathing the hallway they in which they stood in blue light. “The sparkling - it should be circling mine, can you see it?” There was a pause as Nautica’s optics flickered from Prowl’s spark to the bitlet he held in his arms and then -

“Yes.”

_KSSK KSSK_

\- it too disappeared from his grasp.

A new sort of hollowness filled his spark as his bitlet (or at least, what _had_ been his bitlet, if even for only a few minutes) left his grasp.

_Warmth / caring / here_

Prowl jolted as the new presence in his spark made itself known once more - it certainly wasn’t any of the Constructicons, it was more… inward, the source was himself. He allowed himself a strained smile as he hesitantly tapped his fingers against his chest, pulsing inquisitively.

_Love / yours / always_

… his sparkling had found a prime time to finally gain a noticeable presence. His sparkling _wasn’t dead._ Which meant that _he_ wasn’t dead.

Nautica tapped his shoulder, and he looked at her slowly. “You okay?”

He considered the question for a moment, sorting through the past few minutes in his mind. It had… at least been _nice,_ to be able to hold the Constructicons again, no matter how fake the moment may have been. “Yeah,” he responded after a few seconds. “I’ll be fine.”

Nautica nodded acceptingly, before looking consideringly at the door with warnings plastered over it. “I hate to say it, but I think Brainstorm was right,” she started after a moment. “I think someone _is_ trying to keep us away. And I’ve got a feeling that whatever it is we’re not supposed to see…” she continued, walking forward determinedly, turning the handle and swinging the door open, “... is right behind this door.”

Right behind the door, however, was certainly something different from what he believed that he or Nautica had expected to see, and he fairly certain the same applied for the Decepticons in the other room as well.

“Who the _hell_ are you?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on a certain level, this was both relieving and painful to write.
> 
> anyway, if any of you thought for a second there wasn't going to be ScAvEnGeRs in this story then i'm sorry my friends but you were wrong.
> 
> but a new chapter of Courting Gifts is out, featuring exasperated best friend Ten! it's a pretty short installment, but scavenger is too good too pure to be left to suffer for long but he suffers a lot.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ScAvEnGeRs make an entrance and realizations happen, before, as usual, everything goes downhill, very very quickly.

There was a brief moment where time seemed to freeze, both parties staring at the unexpected encounter before everything sped back up and Nautica firmly planted her hand on Prowl’s chest, effectively shoving him back behind the door frame and out of view of the Decepticons.

“He’s an Autobot!” one of them exclaimed. Nautica huffed, plating flaring indignantly.

_“She’s_ an Autobot,” she corrected, before scrunching up her face and correcting herself. “I mean, _I’m_ an Autobot.”

“Seriously, that’s what you’re worried about?” Prowl hissed. Nautica shrugged.

“You’re a _guard,”_ another one accused.

“And not a very good one!” a rotary mech shouted, ignoring Nautica’s loud **_‘HEY!’_ ** as he shoved her aside and dashed into the hallway, quickly followed by the other Decepticons. The large mech that had so easily pushed past Nautica slammed Prowl against the wall, lifting him up by the firm hold one hand had around his neck, the other removing the blades from his back, wedging it into the too-wide seams in his abdomen created by the loosening of his plating.

“Gimme the word, Krok,” his attacker called easily. “Just say it and I’ll kill ‘im.”

Prowl started to resist, but froze almost as quickly as the attack had occurred, feeling the distinct scrape of the edge of the blades against his cramped internals.

“No, no, no,” he heard Nautica start, and he could see her rapidly regaining her bearings in the corner of his peripheral vision. “You’re _Decepticons,”_ she said matter-of-factly, bringing up her hand almost as if to mime a gun, bracing it with her other arm. “Dead or not, you were locked in that room for a reason.”

_“Nautica, what are you doing?”_ Prowl hissed venomously over his internal comm, ignoring the sickening disorientation that came with the action.

_“Bear with me on this, just play along,”_ she responded as she continued to talk out loud. “Stay where you are.”

“Or what?” the pink seeker asked scathingly. “You’ll shoot us with _pretend?”_

“Ever heard of an Autobot called _Genitus?”_ No. “You might know him better as _Brainstorm._ He’s a very dear friend of mine - and a weapons engineer _par excellence.”_ Oh. _Oh._ Prowl could see where Nautica was going with her skit, and relaxed just a little bit, tilting his head as far as he dared to watch the altercation as the rotary mech loosened his hand just a smidge. “He made me this _handgun,”_ she stated easily, slowly approaching the seeker who had spoken, who took a step back in recognition of Brainstorm’s name. “An internal harvester converts my energon into _combustible engex_ which is then _rerouted_ to a web of microscopic propulsors in the tips of my fingers.” She was right in front of the pink seeker, who was by then holding his hands up non-threateningly. “I could go on, but I feel I’ve already _over-elaborated.”_

“Hey,” the Decepticon started soothingly. “Woah. Shh. Easy. We know Brainstorm. We had a bit of a swapsies thing going on. So please. Lower your…” he looked at her ‘handgun’, an odd look on his face as he seemed to search for the correct word. “Hand.”

“You’re right - we _are_ Decepticons - purple to the core - but we don’t want to fight,” one of them said _(Krok,_ he had heard the rotary mech call him), the leader if Prowl was to guess correctly, by the way they all seemingly deferred to him as they relaxed at his words. The rotary mech, with his hand around his throat and blade _far_ too close to several vital systems and his swollen gestation chamber for Prowl’s liking, looked confused.

“We don’t?” the mech asked stupidly. “So I don’t kill him?” Krok sighed.

“No, Spinister,” he answered exhaustedly, rubbing the ridge between his optics. “You don’t kill him. Please put the poor mech down.” And Prowl was dropped to the floor unceremoniously. Nautica slowly moved over to him, not turning her back to the Decepticons (Prowl was relieved that his one friend out of all the idiots he was crewed with was clever) as the mech with a frankly extremely concerning head injury (he could see the mech’s _brain module,_ for Primus’ sake) picked from where Krok had left off before the rotary mech _(Spinister)_ had interrupted.

“We’re actually really chuffed with the whole postwar situation. Apart from the _being locked up_ part.”

“Yeah, but that was our fault,” a short, blue mech rather different from any frame type Prowl himself had seen before stated.

“We accidentally sent ourselves to prison,” Spinister added. Prowl and Nautica cycled their optics almost simultaneously in confusion at the words.

“Prison? What do you mean prison?” Nautica asked.

_“Garrus-9,”_ one of them said as if it were obvious. “What do you mean ‘dead’?” he countered.

“I mean this is _the Afterspark,”_ Nautica answered in the same tone. “You don’t get here by _continuing to be alive.”_

“Eh? But this isn’t -”

“Garrus-9. Exactly.”

“Ahem!” Spinister said, clicking his vocalizer to gather their attention, pointing at an inscription on the wall. “‘Garrus-9 Maximum Security Wing.’”

Nautica huffed, and promptly marched over to correct the rotary mech with the correct inscription (Prowl had no idea what kind of circuit-boosters they must’ve been on to have the idea of being in _Garrus-9)._ “Ahem!” she said, mocking the same clicks of her vocalizer that Spinister had made. “It’s an extract from the _Primal Sacrament:_ ‘And many shall rise from one, and one from many.’”

“No, no,” Krok said after a moment of Nautica and Spinister glaring at each other. “We’re seeing two different things.”

“How is that possible?”

_KSSK_

“I don’t think it is,” Nautica said, trading a look with Prowl, both having recognized the sounds from just minutes before. “Not for any sustainable length of time.” Their surroundings fizzled and glitched, before disappearing to reveal a stark white, sterile-looking hallway. They all looked at where the debated inscription had just been.

“M10,” Krok stated. “You?”

“Same.”

“Well,” Krok started, as they seemed to move in a unanimous silent agreement to go in the direction of ‘M10’ as pointed by the arrow underneath the words, “you know what they say: there’s _your_ truth, there’s _my_ truth… and then there’s _the_ truth.”

“Quoting _Chief Justice Tyrest,”_ Nautica noted, a tone of respect in her voice. “Impressive. The thing is…”

“Krok.”

“Nautica. The thing is, Krok, the ‘truth’ didn’t _want_ to be discovered,” she said, and Prowl could already tell that she was well on her way to theorizing what exactly was going on. “Something or someone went out of their way to prevent us meeting each other - because they knew this would happen. This… glitch.”

“Truth,” Misfire said suddenly, redirecting their attention. _“Truth._ ‘Truth.’ You know when you say the same word over and over…?” he asked the other mechs in his… Prowl supposed they were a unit of some sort.

“Truth. Truth,” the mech with the head injury said.

“Shh, shh, listen: trruuuuth.”

“Ha!” Spinister laughed. “Which word are we talking about…?”

“Oh my God,” Prowl whispered. They had thought _these_ idiots were a threat.

“I know,” the odd blue mech answered their unspoken thoughts long-suffering. “Now imagine being with them _all the time.”_

“I think I’d be praying for the release of death before three days were over. That or I’d already would’ve killed them,” Prowl muttered simply.

“She’s Nickel, by the way,” Krok said, having decided to begin giving introductions. “Those four back there are Spinister, Misfire, Fulcrum, and Crankcase.”

“Prowl,” he responded simply, though the simplicity of the answer may have been lost when he heard a set of vents stutter from behind him.

“Prowl?” Misfire squeaked. Prowl turned his head to look at the pink seeker of his shoulder, and optic ridge raised questioningly. “Like, as in _The_ Prowl? Second-In-Command of the Autobots who eats Decepticon protoforms for breakfast?”

“He _what?”_ another one of them - Fulcrum, Prowl thought - yelped.

“That’s my brand,” he responded dryly. Nautica whacked his arm in remand.

“Why would he need to eat protoforms?” Spinister asked confusedly. “The minerals he needs to build one are harvested from his frame and excess energon consumption, not other protoforms.” Prowl walked a few more paces before he realized that what the rotary mech had stated was familiar - almost like on of Velocity’s texts. He froze in his steps.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Crankcase grouched. Spinister shrugged.

“That’s how carrying works, isn’t it? ‘S been a while since I’ve handled a case.”

There was a heavy pause as each mech processed Spinister’s words.

Several of the Decepticon unit broke out in laughter as if told a particularly funny joke, while Nautica (in a way that she probably thought was subtle) maneuvered herself in front of him.

“That’s real funny, Spin. Doesn’t mean he won’t eat us though,” Misfire chortled.

Spinister huffed angrily, and both Nautica and Prowl took a hesitant shuffle back, not eager for the mech to attack either of them again. “You can tell by the gap in his abdominal plating and the crampedness of his internals - he’s carrying,” the rotary mech asserted in a whiney, almost child-like manner.

There was another heavy pause as those words were digested as well. All optics turned to Prowl, who tensed and moved his hand near his subspace, where he kept an acid-pellet rifle that Bonecrusher had given him well over a year ago.  
“And what of it?” he hissed in question, thought it almost certainly came out as more of a threat than anything. Spinister shrugged.

“‘S obvious.”

“Okay, okay,” Krok interrupted, holding his hands up in a non-threatening manner, probably seeing the way the two Autobots had tensed up (Prowl hated to think that he probably looked like _prey_ at that moment). “We’re not hurting any of you - Nautica, Prowl, or the bitlet - we’re done with war, we don’t want to fight.”

After another long moment, Prowl and Nautica relaxed minutely and the group slowly began to carry on in the direction in which they had been headed, though Prowl didn’t miss the way that Nautica kept herself firmly position between him and the rest of the Decepticons. It was almost cute how she thought that she could protect him from six Decepticons all by herself (though she _had_ gotten them to back down with that whole hand-handgun trick).

“The real question we should be asking here is,” Krok started after a few seconds as they approached a door at the end of the hallway, seemingly eager to move on from thinking about an enemy commander being a creator, “if we’re not where _we_ thought we were, and we’re not where _you_ thought we were…” M10, with a simple red emblem beneath it decorated the doorway in front of them, “...where _are_ we?”

“No idea,” Nautica said after a moment, taking a few brisk steps forward to begin pushing the doors open. “But I’m pretty sure I know what the ‘M’ stands for.”

* * *

Nautica punched the _Open Door_ button furiously, in rapid succession as if the repetition would make the glitched door open any faster than the snails pace the locks were currently undoing at.

“Another disaster averted,” they heard Rodimus’ muffled words from the other side of the door just as it began to creak open. Fulcrum and Misfire each grabbed a door and forced it open, allowing their ragtag group to spill into the room as Rodimus continued. “Time to move on.”

**_“NO!”_ ** Nautica exclaimed, almost tripping over her feet as she was pushed over as Spinister bumped into her. “Belay that order! We’re not done.”

“We found something pretty big,” Prowl tacked on as Drift’s optics widened in shock at the grey frame that Spinister had carried up from the morgue as evidence of their claims.

_“Axe?”_ he questioned in a breath of shock, stepping closer and observing the mech’s face with a type of recognition, any grief overpowered by shock. A guilty look passed over Nautica’s face.

“I’m sorry, Drift - if I’d known he was a friend, I wouldn’t have, you know, used him to make an entrance.”

“Bold words for the mech who was questioning the ethics of a Decepticon corpse a way back home,” Prowl muttered under his breath snippily as the sword mech responded.

“We fought together in Crystal City,” Drift told them, ignoring Prowl’s muttering.

“I found him in a _morgue_ downstairs - along with hundreds more like him.”

“Cause of death wasn’t external, I can tell you that for certain,” Prowl tacked on with confidence boosted by the years he had spent in mechaforensics, having examined a few bodies with Nickel and Spinister (the stupidest genius Prowl had ever worked with [and he was certainly including Brainstorm in that category]), and neither of them were able to find anything telling.

“All of them _euthanized,_ no doubt,” Ultra Magnus added. Nautica and Prowl traded shocked looks.

“What?”

“This entire facility is designed to kill you using artificial environments shaped by your _desires_ and _expectations,”_ he elaborated. After a moment of thought, Prowl could agree that the explanation made perfect sense - Brainstorm and Quark, himself and the Constructicons and his sparkling, Drift and… whatever that light show had been, thought the mech was standing in front of them relatively unharmed, so perhaps it was unrelated?

“Expectations is right,” Krok added in. “We thought we were traveling to _Garrus-9…”_

“How long have you been here?” Ratchet asked.

“Not that long. Why?”

“Any longer and the Mederi program would have found a way to kill you.”

“We’d probably have killed each other.” Watching the group interact? It was unsurprising.

“There you go.”

“Axe was a member of the _Circle of Light,_ wasn’t he?” Rodimus asked suddenly, turning to Drift.

“Uh-huh,” the sword mech responded confusedly as Rodimus’ darkened, seeming to have realized something. “Why?”

“Pot a course from _Cybertron to Mederi_ and put it on the screen,” he ordered briskly.

“Done,” Drift responded not a few seconds later.

“There,” Rodimus said matter of factly, turning to the room and pointing at the screen. Prowl could swear he felt his fuel pump freeze, and the stalling of the processors of all the not-Decepticon mecha in the room (ie. the ones who had been part of the _Lost Light’s_ quest). “Does that look familiar to anyone?”

“It’s not possible…” Nautica gasped, inevitably having come to the same conclusion as the rest of them.

“It’s our map!” Drift chirped, looking slightly confused as to why it was so familiar, appearing a little slow on the uptake. “The _Matrix map!_ The map to -” he froze, optics widening. “Oh. My. God.”

“That’s right everyone -” Rodimus announced to a room full of shocked Autobots and confused Decepticons. _“Welcome to Cyberutopia.”_

The room was still for a long moment.

“But if this is Cyberutopia,” Nautica began, quickly regaining her bearings, “Wouldn’t that mean…?”

“It would!” Rodimus cheered. “That’s _exactly_ what it would mean! And I can _prove it.”_ He turned to Drift, who was leaning dazedly against the computer station, but quickly righted himself as Rodimus began talking to him. “Look up the _earliest Cybertronian patients_ and tell me when they got here.”

It was a tense, silent moment as Drift scoured the database, broken only by the Decepticons behind them awkwardly shuffling their feet.

“They got here… just over ten million years ago. They were suffering from - I think I’m pronouncing this right - Atrophosia?”  
“It’s a _degenerative disease_ similar to cybercrosis,” Ratchet offered in explanation, walking up to look over Drift’s shoulder at the patient files. “Infections linked to contact with _organic lifeforms.”_ Prowl could hear one of the Decepticons behind him make a disgusted noise, and he found that he quite agreed. “Ten million years…” Ratchet mused. “That would make this the _earliest recorded case.”_

“Hey -” Drift interrupted, “- there’s footage of them arriving.”

“Punch it up - and get ready,” Rodimus ordered excitedly, grinning as it flickered to life. “Heroic Autobots - evil Decepticons -”

**_“HEY!”_ ** Misfire exclaimed indignantly.

“I give you -” _Crowds cheering, a shining city, extravagant banners and opulent garments for a parade, the leading mech holding the Matrix of Leadership,_ “- The _Knights of Cybertron.”_

There was a long, long silence as everybody in the room processed what was happening - even the Decepticons had heard of the Knights of Cybertron, but most of the group looked at Rodimus skeptically.

“You don’t look convinced,” Rodimus said, particularly to Drift (local religious and folk-lore expert supreme), whose mouth was pinched and optics narrowed scrutinizing.

“...”

“Okay, but strip away all the mythology - all the speculation - and think about what’s left,” Rodimus said, turning to the room as he began to explain his process to a skeptical audience, moving about the room and gesticulating dramatically as he began to weave his tale. “Think about how it would’ve played out: the Knights - the first spacefaring Cybertronians - set off to explore the Galaxy and find themselves exposed to all sorts of new exotic flesh-borne diseases. When they get sick, they head for the nearest - and newest - medicenter. They’ve got no idea that Mederi’s going to present itself to them as something else.”

Prowl… could actually see where Rodimus was coming from with his theory and could see the merit that it held - it matched up with all the clues they were given. None of them were any Nightbeat, but there was nothing that popped out as contradictory to him straight away.

“It makes sense,” Nautica agreed. “You’re exploring _deep space_ and you get ill: a new disease - something that’s killing you in ways you don’t understand. You go looking for treatment, but at the same time, what do you want most in the world?”

“Home,” Nickel said quietly, an almost inaudible whisper, in a sympathetic way that told of shared experience. “You want to go home.”

“Exactly,” Rodimus cheered, caught up in his explanation, walking behind Nickel and putting his hands on her shoulders approvingly. “But these guys are _explorers!_ Their whole purpose in life, their whole reason for coming out here, it to discover new worlds! So how does the Mederi program reconcile these two conflicting desires?”

“It gives them a new Cybertron,” Drift finished, looking forlorn. “A _perfect_ Cybertron.”

“And before they die -” Rodimus continued, pointing at the looping footage on the screen, “- and hell, by this point they’d probably forgotten they were dying - they map the route to ‘Cyberutopia’ onto the Matrix and send it home so that others - like the _Circle of Light_ \- can find the happiness they’ve found.”

“So…” Drift started as they all processed the information. “That’s it? We’re done? The quest’s over?”

“Oh, were you one a quest?” Misfire asked excitedly. “Love a good quest.”

“Seriously,” Nautica asked disbelieving, and Prowl could relate - all the build-up for finding a perfect world, and it was _gone_ \- just like that, “what do we do now?”

“We go,” Ratchet answered tiredly. “It’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been a long quest. It’s time to go.”

* * *

“Hey, you’ll never guess what I’ve just found out,” Rodimus called excitedly as they approached the group of mecha where the floating Matrix used to be.

“ _NOT NOW!”_ Whirl snapped, turned to Rodimus and narrowing his optic dangerously. “I mean it,” the attack helicopter growled, poking Rodimus sharply in the chest with a claw. “Now now. Let him have this,” he said, gesturing at Cyclonus, kneeling on the ground, arms wrapped around something as his shoulders shook. Prowl could see Nautica bounce on the edges of her pedes next to him to try and see what was happening. “Hey,” Whirl said softly to the purple mech, tapping him with a gentleness that Prowl would have never expected out of him. “Up you get.”

After a long moment, Cyclonus began to straighten up, the silent, almost reverent moment broken by a loud confused noise, in an octave register that _definitely_ didn’t belong to sword mech.

“I’m still here,” Tailgate said in awe, taking the slightest step back from Cyclonus - Prowl didn’t know _when_ Tailgate had gotten there, but the almost infectiously joyful explosion of Cyclonus’ EM field kept him from speaking on the matter. “I’m _still here!_ I’m alive! I’m alive and still here!”

“Rodimus? Brainstorm?” Cyclonus asked, turning his head to them, the happiest grin Prowl had ever seen adorning his face (not that he could actually recall a moment where the usually dour mech _had_ been cheerful).

“I can’t explain it,” Rodimus said, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “But then, I can’t explain why _Ten_ started _speaking,_ or why Ratchet started to _fade away,_ or why those Decepticons were locked in a room.”

Cyclonus accepted the lack of explanation with no qualms, turning back to embrace Tailgate again, a reverent, happy, and content look on his face - Prowl could identify the look easily, as he had seen it himself before.

“We need to work out what’s happening…” Brainstorm mused.

Nautica grabbed Prowl’s wrist, stopping him from continuing to tap on his chest plates - not that he had even realized that he had started.

“No,” Ratchet said. “We don’t. Not today.”

She pulled his hand away, and he limply let the appendage fall blankly back down to his side.

_“You_ want to leave something unexplained?” Drift asked disbelievingly.

Nautica entwined her fingers with Prowl’s, gripping his hand tightly, a reassuring pulse of _affection / love / care_ coming from the tiny newspark circling his own.

“If it means we get to keep the _happy ending,_ yes.”

After a long moment, Prowl squeezed back.

“Because we don’t get those too often.”

Nautica tapped a fan playfully against one of Prowl’s doorwings, a playful smile on her face. After a moment, Prowl nudged his doorwing right back against her fan in retaliation, returning her smile with a sidelong smirk. His spark settled from a trembling whirl he hadn’t even realized it had entered, and slowed, buzzing soothingly.

“Yeah,” Fulcrum interrupted after a moment, gaining the attention of their group as he stared at the sky, “I might be jumping the gun here, but I think someone’s got other ideas.” He pointed upwards at whatever he was looking at. “I mean, I could be _wrong_ -” Prowl could hear his vents and those of others stall as they followed his line of sight, “- but those guys don’t look friendly.”

As the frames fell closer, it was easy to identify the objects descending from the sky - the crew of the _Lost Light,_ the mutineers, what looked to be _all_ of them - but they weren’t _right._

“... Not them,” Rodimus whispered in horrified shock. “Please - anyone but them!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first part of this chapter with the scavengers was written while i was 32-hours sleep deprived in munich and the rest was written on a plane back from munich and i think it shows.  
> a n y w a y  
> courting gifts! new chapter, this time with Mixmaster and relationship counselor/bartender Swerve!
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go wild from point A to B to C to Z, and Prowl wonders how the day could get any worse - and is answered by a spark of hope that he's longed for.

“What _are_ they?” Krok asked in shock.

“Not what -” Drift corrected, “- _who.”_

“They’re my crew,” Rodimus explained, a constipated look upon his face. “This crew of the _Lost Light…_ and they’ve been turned into **_sparkeaters!”_ ** And that summed up the problematic situation they found themselves in nicely.

“Primus, today has _not_ been going the way I expected,” Prowl muttered, and Nautica only nodded absently, watching in concern as Brainstorm tried to approach… Prowl was fairly sure it was Perceptor he was trying to talk to.

“Perceptor?” the scientist asked hesitantly. Nautica untangled her fingers from Prowl’s to take a cautious step forward but tapped a fan against one of his doorwings reassuringly. “Percy?”

“Careful…” Nautica warned as she crept towards them.

“It’s Brainstorm - remember me? Your lab partner? Your one-time lab partner?” the flyer started hesitantly. “‘Watch out you fool, the ceiling can’t support your weight!’” He chuckled awkwardly. “That guy. O.T.T. smart? Low-key good looking?” Prowl watched as Brainstorm neared touching distance with Perceptor, absently wondering if the scientist was trying to get through to the ex-Wrecker or flirt with him. “There. See? I’m not a threat. Okay, maybe _intellectually,_ but -”

“Brainstorm!” Nautica called worriedly as Perceptor began to open his mouth.

“Not a threat. A friend.” Brainstorm wiggled his wings amicably. “You and me. Simpatic-”

**_“HUEERGH!”_ ** Perceptor retched, a spray of green, glowing _something_ spewing from his mouth.

**_“-AAAARGH!”_ ** Brainstorm cried in pain as the projectile vomit-acid hit his shoulder with an alarmingly loud _HSSSSS_ noise. Prowl felt himself flinch and take a startled step back, a reaction not helped by the startled shrieks of some behind him.

**_“MOVE!”_ ** Nautica shouted, tackling Brainstorm out of the way, his shoulder smoking as the acid bit away at his plating.

“Nautica!” Prowl called, rushing over to the two as they skidded to a halt along the ground.

_“Run,_ people!” Ultra Magnus ordered in alarm as Prowl helped Nautica and a dazed, incoherent Brainstorm to their feet. “Threat level five! Emergency protocol five! Escape procedure fi-”

“Five?” Misfire asked.

_“Six,_ actually!” Ultra Magnus snapped at the Decepticon petulantly.

“Pretty sure you were gonna say -”

_“Don’t pretend you know the system!”_

_“Stop being petty and move!”_ Prowl snapped at them as he laid a dazed Brainstorm over Nautica’s alt, before swiftly transforming himself. His tires screeched as he accelerated, and he could hear the heated whirl of Nautica’s fans as she zoomed right alongside him. He would’ve said it felt good to drive again after so long trapped on a cramped spaceship, but it the rush of racing was somewhat undercut by the fear of what was chasing them in turn.

“Up there!” he heard somebody call.

“Not _more_ of the damned things…”

“I think it’s a _ship!”_

There was a tangible panic in the air as something began to drop from the ship at an alarming pace - right in front of them. The entire group skidded to a halt, flipping out of their alts - trapped between whatever the ship was throwing at them and the sparkeaters/mutineers not far behind them. Brainstorm seemed to be regaining his bearings enough from the pain in his shoulder as the decay of the acid slowed down - enough at least for a flare of fear to zip through his EM field.

“It’s a _bomb!”_ Roller shouted in alarm. “Everyone _turn back!_ We’re heading into the blast zone!”

“And we’d be heading right back towards the sparkeaters!” Prowl snapped in response but felt himself quickly backpedal on his words as the bomb (?) changed course midair, charging straight for the horde of sparkeaters behind them.

“That’s not a bomb,” Fulcrum called out. “Trust me, I’d know.”

There was a collective flinch at the reverberating **_WRUNCH!!_ ** that sounded out as - _Grimlock?!_ \- landed on a cluster of sparkeaters.

“Oh, _come on!”_ Lug shouted agitatedly as Grimlock leaped forward, slicing another sparkeater in half. **_“THIS ISN’T NORMAL!!”_ **

_Koom! Koom!_

“Oh, _great -”_ Grimlock grouched as Ultra Magnus picked up Crankcase, the guilty offender who had fired the shots that hadn’t even singed the Dynobot’s armor, “- it’s _you.”_

“The sparkeaters are _us,_ Grimlock!” Ultra Magnus shouted. “They’re _Autobots!”_

“Put! Me! Down!” Crankcase cried, squirming in Ultra Magnus’ grasp angrily.

**_KUH-CHOOM!!_ **

Everybody startled yet again as more sparkeaters were thrown back by the powerful thrusters of the ship Grimlock had jumped from coming in for a landing.

“Grimsy!” Misfire called enthusiastically at the Dynobot, completely ignoring the approaching ship. “You’re _alive!”_

“Best keep your distance, Decepticon,” Ultra Magnus warned, putting his arm in front of Misfire, which the seeker promptly ignored and went around, heading straight for Grimlock. “Grimlock has a tendency to -” Misfire wrapped his arms around the warrior’s waist, and Grimlock patted Misfire’s head - dare Prowl say it - _affectionately,_ “- hug people?” Magnus finished confusedly.

“What the fuck,” Prowl whispered, the organic curse seeming oddly appropriate for the absolutely absurd situation unfolding in front of him.

“Now that we’ve found Cybertutopia,” Rodimus started in a hushed whisper as the Decepticons Prowl and Nautica had discovered approached the Autobot with seemed to be _fondness,_ “we should go on a quest to explain _this.”_

“...” Ultra Magnus was quiet for a moment longer, face scrunched before brightening, having come up with what Prowl (presumed) to be a logical explanation. “Grimlock’s been missing for years. They probably found him, saved him - by accident, no doubt - and he feels protective towards them.” Ultra Magnus looked at Rodimus admonishingly. “You see? There’s an explanation for everything.”

Misfire pulled away from his embrace with Grimlock to look at him expectantly. “What did you do with the baby?” Oh. Now, _there_ was something to question Primus about.

Magnus traded a helpless look with Rodimus’ expectant-of-explanation-for-everything one, simply declaring softly, “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“She’s safe,” Grimlock rumbled in response to Misfire’s question. “I left her with _The Curator.”_

“You’ve been to _Troja Major?”_ the hyperactive jet asked interestedly.

“Let me guess:” Crankcase interrupted (though Prowl was intrigued by the reluctant smile on the face of the grouchy ‘con), “you killed your way out of Scorponok’s Worldsweeper and -”

“- ended up adrift in space,” Grimlock finished easily. Riptide - as well as First Aid, Thunderclash, and a mech who Prowl didn’t quite recognize, approaching from the landed ship - picked up the story, examining the ends of his fingers in a self-satisfied fashion.

“He sent an A.S.O.S. - and some dashing young boat picked it up.”

“We were heading to Troja Major to fix Thunderclash,” First Aid elaborated.

“Sirs,” the mech in question said, saluting respectfully.

“Funeral towns are great _for_ spare parts,” the medic continued, a bit too pleased with himself.

“After we told Grimlock about the _mutiny,”_ Riptide started, launching off into an elaborate explanation, “he volunteered to tear Getaway a new one, so we chartered a _Q-class_ ship from _Wipe-Out_ -”

“It’s tiny, but it can _quantum-jump_ like the best of them. Better, in fact - smaller means quicker,” the unknown ‘bot - _Wipe-Out_ \- explained. “Cost me a _fortune.”_

“We started chasing down the _Lost Light_ -” Thunderclash continued.

“- using a _tracer_ I hid in the medibay after Riptide freed us from out _closed-loop comas,”_ First Aid finished. The collected group of Decepticons and Autobots stood there for a moment, processing the rapid-fire explanation that had just been shoved down their intakes.

“That’s how I like my explanations,” Misfire commented numbly. “Hard, fast, and confusing.”

“Yeah,” Swerve replied absently, “I used to be in the recap business, and that précis did _not_ take any prisoners.”

“It was like being beaten to death with a _story so far.”_

“A ‘summary execution.’” The two chatterbots turned to each other with wide smiles on their faces, clapping their hands together in a firm, solidarity-forming handshake.

“How come we’ve never met?” Misfire asked approvingly.

“The universe hates winners,” Swerve smirked in response, an ominous glint in his visor.

“Those two are going to be absolute _menaces,”_ Prowl whispered disparagingly.

“You and you,” Rodimus said strictly, pointing at Thunderclash and Riptide respectively. _“Mutineer one_ and _mutineer two._ I’ll deal with you later,” he warned, before turning to the medic that had accompanied them, his attitude flipping like a switch. “First Aid -” he started, placing a hand on the medic’s shoulder “- loyal, dependable First Aid - what have I missed?”

“Getaway and sanity have parted company,” he told the captain solemnly. “He’s putting _scraplets_ in the reservoir, reducing crewmembers to their life cords, altering people’s memories…” First Aid trailed off, the ‘etcetera’ heavily implied. “You name it. He’s resorted to it.”

“And the rest of the crew just shrugged and said sure why not?” Ratchet asked skeptically as he shined a light in Thunderclash’s optic as he examined the mech.

“We wanted Megatron off the ship,” the patient defended in turn. “Everything else that happened… we didn’t want. The more we resisted, the more things _escalated.”_

“Your ship, Wipe-Out -” Rodimus started, “- how many can it hold?”

“Twelve of me, ten of you, and six of him,” the mech answered, pointing at Ultra Magnus. “Why, what are you thinking?”

“First Aid’s tracer, the sparkeaters…” Rodimus trailed off contemplatively. “Everything says the _Lost Light_ is _close by.”_

**_KRAKA-DOOM!_ **

They all flew back as the shockwave of rapidly displaced air threw them back.

“There it is!” Rodimus cried, pointing at where the _Lost Light_ was materializing out of its quantum jump. “There’s my ship! Oh God…” he whispered as the ship got closer, revealing the hull to be painted with an enormous, foreign green symbol. “... What has he done to you?”

Almost as soon as the ship had appeared, it passed over them, disappearing into the distance.

_“Now_ where’s he going?” Rodimus asked in both rage and indignation.

“He’ll be back,” Chromedome assured the agitated captain. “He’s toying with us.”

“Not to get all _Meteorological,”_ Anode interrupted, redirecting their attention accordingly, “can we talk about the _sky?”_ Of which had turned an odd orangish color, accompanied by gathering swirls of clouds.

“Even the weather’s got it in for us…” Velocity lamented forlornly.

“But we’re not orbiting a star,” Prowl added confusedly. “How’s this possible?”

“The same kind of thing was happening on _Troja Major,”_ First Aid chipped in helpfully.

_“Priorities,_ people!” Rodimus snapped irately. “We’re _this close_ to getting the _Lost Light_ back and all you care about it -”

**_“RRRRGK!”_ ** a sparkeater - the sparkeaters they’d _forgotten_ about - growled as he lunged.

“Slapdash?!” Rodimus cried out in shock as he turned around - turned around too slow. Prowl was about to shutter his optics and look away from Rodimus’ looming end when a loud **_BRAKOOM!_ ** vibrated through his struts, the sparkeaters exploding in purple light.

“You _killed_ him!” Rewind cried indignantly at Krok as the Decepticon hefted the heavy blaster he’d used to obliterate the sparkeater onto his shoulder unrepentantly.

“Yes - before he killed your captain!” Krok snapped back. “If you want to _blame_ someone, Autobot, blame whoever turned your crewmates into _monsters!”_

“Look out!” Drift cried. **_“Second wave!”_ **

Prowl felt someone grab him by the scruff of his neck and _pulled_ him back, and struggled for a moment before he recognized the panicked EM field as Nautica’s - who was tugging along a still-slightly disoriented Brainstorm as well.

“Let go of me!” he shouted indignantly as she dragged the two of them behind cover, and further behind the other ‘bots who’d fallen back, firing on the sparkeaters as the new round followed them. Brainstorm wiggled oddly in a form of a token protest, but the slight jarring of his shoulder that it brought made him give up pretty quickly. Nautica growled and only pulled them further back from the front line.

“No, you stubborn glitches!” she snapped as they resisted her pull. “Brainstorm, you’re injured and it’s clearly still incapacitating you -”

“It just stings a bit!” the scientist whined.

“- and Prowl, you’re carrying and shouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place! _Remember_ what Lotty told you about being stressed, and I don’t know about you, but I am _freaking out right now!”_

After a moment of silence, broken only by the yelling of mechs on the front line and sound of blasters going off, and Nautica’s vents heaving in agitation, Brainstorm sighed and simply sat down on the ground.

“Don’t,” he told Prowl as he opened his mouth to argue some more as Nautica glared at him, kneeling behind the scientist to begin doing what little field repair she could on his shoulder. “She’ll tackle you, trust me,” he warned with a weak chuckle followed by a pained his as Nautica began capping sparking wires and leaking fuel lines. After a moment, Prowl huffed an irritated sigh, and sat down next to Brainstorm, who gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder, saying, “There, there.”

“Oh, shut it.”

Not even a minute later, they heard Rodimus’ voice ring out across the field.

“Okay, everyone!” he called out. “Here’s what we’re gonna do!”

* * *

“Careful what you use to _barricade the doors_ \- aim for non-essential equipment only,” Nautica called as she helped Rewind over yet another storage cabinet.

“We should put some _non-metallic material_ in there too -” Swerve added, “- their weird acid vomit might find it trickier to dissolve.”

“We want to keep the sparkeaters out - but not at the expense of finding a cure.”

“Acid vomit…” Fulcrum muttered. “... when did my life take such a massive wrong turn?”

Prowl frowned as he capped another sparking wire in the stump of Rung’s shoulder where his arm once was - Velocity had set him to task with a field kit, deciding to help with the barricades instead as she was, in her words, ‘more physically fit’. His frown deepened - it wasn’t like he was an _invalid_ or something.

“Well, I can’t fault Rodimus’ logic,” the medic in question mused. “We’re in one of the most _advanced_ hospitals in the galaxy. If there is a cure for whatever’s been done to the crew, it’s going to be in here somewhere.”

Prowl was distracted from his thoughts and eavesdropping by a pained hiss from the therapist in front of him. “Has the block worn off?” he asked. Rung simply shook his head in the negative.

“It’s fine, I don’t think this is going to get much better than it is.”

“Velocity will eviscerate me if something happens.”

Rung laughed at that. “No, she won’t, I dare say that she’s grown fond of you these past few months.”

Prowl simply quirked an optic ridge. “Bold assumption.”

* * *

“‘Prepare, confront, repel,’” Rung said, translating the odd foreign murmurs of the - the - Prowl was fairly sure that Ratchet had called the organics _telepaths,_ and he’d usually question the notion, but the day was already weird enough without having to hear _that_ story. “Does that mean anything to anyone?”

“For the _last time:_ ignore the telepaths and focus on keeping the _sparkeaters_ at bay,” Ratchet snapped, sparing them a brief, irritated glance over his shoulder before he turned back to his furious typing.

“The angry doctor is right -” Prowl choked at Spinister’s boldness, “- we’ve got a situation here.”

“We’ve also got a _cure,”_ First Aid interrupted, wheeling out a machine that looked - honestly, Prowl wasn’t sure _what_ it looked like, and after millenia of war and absurd injuries by subordinates, it made him weary. “Who’s heard of _concussive medicine?”_ he asked, before plowing ahead without waiting for an answer. “Don’t lie - I didn’t even know it was a thing until I hacked Mederi’s _patient files.”_

“I still don’t understand why a euthanasia clinic would bother with _patient files,”_ Prowl muttered under his breath. Nautica simply shrugged from next to him, watching the medics work.

“Apparently, the _sparkeater virus_ can be neutralized if the infected body is his - and hit _hard_ \- with a kinetic program code,” First Aid continued, patting his odd machine proudly. “The generator should do the trick.”

“A _kinetic_ program code?” Brainstorm asked skeptically.

“It relies on motion - and force of impact - for delivery and effect.”

“Wait - you’re saying we’re gonna _punch_ them back to health?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“I picked the wrong profession,” Brainstorm said forlornly.

“What the actual frag is medicine even anymore?” Nautica whispered confusedly.

“Is it safe?” Misfire asked. “For organics, I mean.”

“That’s…” First Aid started after a moment, considering the jet’s words, “... a good point. I’ve no idea what it would do to the telepaths Okay, maybe we shouldn’t -”

**_THUD_ **

Everyone turned as Nickel slammed her hands on the control panel of the generator, starting a heavy, droning sound that Prowl swore he could actually _see_ the waves of moving through the air. The snarls and growls and sounds of tearing metal that had been emanating from the door constantly since they had arrived suddenly disappeared, replaced with the sound of collapsing frames. As the sound faded, a slightly stunned silence fell over the room until Velocity broke it.

“Of _course!”_ the medic exclaimed excitedly as Nickel. “If the sparkeaters had broken into the ward, they’d have killed the telepaths anyway! You knew you _had_ to take the risk!”

“Er…” Nickel started with an uncomfortable smile, before deciding to embrace it, “...yeah. Yeah, that’s definitely it.” Prowl snorted.

“Um…” Tailgate piped up, from where he had been occupying space by the windows. “Now that the immediate threat’s gone, maybe you guys wanna… look outside?”

“What the actual frag could be going on _now?”_ Ratchet griped as they all moved like a swarm, huddling around the viewport the minibot occupied. They all froze. “What the…?”

The sky was a crackling and swirling red, before it _split open_ to reveal a whirling orange vortex.

There was yet another stunned silence as everybody watched the scene unfold.

“Congratulations, Ratchet,” Prowl stated dryly. “You jinxed it.”

He never admitted that he perhaps deserved the swat to the helm that Ratchet provided in remand.

* * *

“Alright!” Rodimus called as the _Lost Light_ lost whatever momentum it had managed to gain. “Full house! Grab hold of someone you love, folks -” Prowl grabbed the railing of the bridge’s higher level, tensing when he saw Nautica quickly do the same next to him, “- because we’re about to enter _choppy waters!”_

“Crankcase?” he heard Ultra Magnus hiss menacingly as the ship ground to a halt before slowly beginning to go in reverse, the hull tipping up worryingly.

“Thrusters are at full whack! There’s nothing I can - there’s nothing I can do! I’m sorry, guys - we’re being sucked into it!”

Prowl had never been quite as thankful for gravity generators as he was in the moment that they flew upside down through the tear in the sky.

“Eyes front, Crusadercons,” Rodimus ordered stiltedly. “Is everyone seeing what I’m -”

“Yes,” Ultra Magnus interrupted. “Yes, we are.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Nautica started hesitantly next to him, “but is that…?”

Prowl stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending of her hesitation, before recalling that she had only ever been there once, in it’s ruinous state after the War. “Cybertron, yes. Pristine.”

“And there’s -”

“Five of them.”

“... this wasn’t in the history books.”

* * *

“Remind you of anything?” Nautica asked, framing the sight of the four other Cybertron’s visible in the sky from the one they had landed on.”

“Skids,” Rung answered easily.

“Uh-huh,” she affirmed, leaning back a bit to view them better. “It’s exactly what he saw when he went through Tyrest’s portal…”

“Chief Justice Tyrest?” Prowl asked skeptically. “Rodimus had mentioned a portal in his briefing, but there wasn’t a mention of anything like _this_ being on the other side.”

“Skids was the only one who went through - he tried to explain it to us, but, admittedly, it didn’t make much sense,” Rung offered hesitantly. “Something about a spark that spoke to him in feelings.”

“Spelt them out phonetically for me once, as well,” Nautica said. Her face scrunched up suddenly. “Any idea why the Galactic Council’d be here?”

Rung and Prowl turned to look at the sky, and Prowl felt the energon in his lines run cold. “Ask how the day can get worse,” he muttered, “and receive the _Black Block Consortia_ in turn.”

“Hell’s teeth!” he heard Ultra Magnus curse as they were quickly pressed into the group by the rapidly approaching army of organics. “There are _thousands_ of them…!”

“We should try to _talk_ to them,” Roller suggested. _“Reason_ with them. Rodimus…?”

“If you’re asking me whether we _fight_ them or not… I think the moment’s passed.”

**_VROOOSH_ **

“Oh, for -” the captain cursed as they were bathed in a stark blue light, “- what _now…?!”_

“Getaway was right,” came a ringing voice from the _Worldsweeper_ that had appeared.

_“So_ not the best way to start a conversation,” Rodimus snapped.

“He said you’d try to stop me.”

“‘Me’ being?”

“The Grand Architect.”

“Nice. Very humble. Tell you what - come down here so we can have a proper chat. You can tell me about your collection of knock-off Cybertrons…”

“What does it say about our lives that this is one of the less weird things that’s happened today?” Prowl asked dryly.

“Nothing good, I’m sure,” Nautica responded almost as bitingly.

“If only there were time,” the ‘Grand Architect’ replied to Rodimus woefully. “But any moment now, after all these years, my _visitor_ will arrive - and the _future_ will finally become the _present.”_

“Oh! If you’ve got _guests,_ we’ll be on our way.”

“No. This has to unfold as foreseen. I can’t have _random elements_ causing a disturbance.”

“I am _definitely_ a random element.”

“Soldiers -” seeming to preemptively predict the orders, thousands of guns raised, “- shoot to kill in five…” Nautica’s optics widened and she pushed her way forward as they all shrank back, even as Prowl tried to stop her from entering the direct line of fire.

“Wait! Wait!”

“... four…”

Nautica spat a series of garbled syllables that Prowl couldn’t even _begin_ to transcribe in his mind - though the sound evoked an image, the same that had decorated the bottom of the _Lost Light._

“...” There was a tense silence, but the countdown had paused. “... Hold fire.” There was a palpable release of tension at the words. “Where did you learn to speak like that?”

“Come down here and we’ll tell you,” Rodimus answered snappishly.

“No; you come aboard and tell me. Just you and your key officers. We’ll dispose of the rest.” Rodimus stared petulantly at the ship above their heads. “Well? Choose your delegation.” Rodimus continued to stare. “I _said_ choose your -”

“No,” he interrupted, _“you_ choose. _All of us_ or _none of us._ This is not the time to try and split us up. Do you have _any_ idea what we’ve been through together? What we’ve _achieved?_ We’ve seen off a _Phase-Sixer,”_ Prowl flinched at the mention of Overlord, “cured an _army_ of sparkeaters, survived a mutiny, traveled in time, gatecrashed a universe, and saved _half our race.”_

“Am I supposed to be -”

“I’m not even done!” Rodimus snapped, continuing. “We’ve liberated planets, defeated the _DJD,_ found Luna One _and_ the Necrobot, rescued _two_ Metrotitans, been _erased from existence,_ and _stolen a moon_ \- and a few hours ago we _died_ and _broke heaven.”_ The _Lost Light’s_ escapades suddenly sounded significantly more impressive and simultaneously foolish when phrased like that. “The keyword is _we._ This isn’t about _Team Rodimus._ This is about Team Magnus. It’s about Team Nautica. Team Anode. Team Skids. Team Nightbeat. Hell, it’s even about _Team Whirl.”_ Rodimus ended the section of his impassioned speech, quickly moving onto the next with a quickly building righteous rage. “So if the ‘The Grand Architect’ turns out to be nothing more than the latest in a long line of _nobodies_ trying to _prove a point_ \- another sad little trumped-up tyrant who throws a _hissy-fit_ whenever the world won’t listen - then maybe, just maybe, Getaway _was_ right. Because if you’re stupid enough to turn this into _us_ versus _you,_ guess what? We’ll win. _We’ve got form.”_

There was dead silence as Rodimus finished, broken only by his loud vents as he glared at the Worldsweeper looming above them.

“... Very well. Perhaps you _all_ deserve an audience."

* * *

“Well, this is _nice,”_ Rodimus remarked dryly from by the viewport of their waiting room. “Nice view of the _rift._ Nice room. Nice lighting. Just… nice. A nice change from a _cell.”_ He turned back around. “Who else is bored?” After a moment, he turned to Nickel. “I keep meaning to ask you - but, y’know, _jeopardy_ and all that - why are you wearing a replica _Magnificence?”_

The medic looked down at the odd bauble around her neck. “It’s the real deal, but it’s not taking questions.”

“Shame,” Riptide lamented, “because I’ve got about _twenty billion.”_

“Riptide _please,”_ Ultra Magnus interrupted, “Exaggeration is a form of _conversational fraud.”_

“I said ‘about.’”

“A colleague of mine used to exaggerate frequently. Between our first meeting and his request for an urgent transfer, he must have exaggerated… well.. It must have been four or five times.”

“That… didn’t go where I expected,” Misfire gaped.

“And yet it kind of did?” Swerve proposed consideringly.

_“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHU-TSCHE!”_ They all spun around at the sudden sound, staring at Rung as he transformed.

“That noise!” Nickel breathed after a moment.

“Was that him or his body?” Tailgate asked confusedly.

“I don’t know why,” Swerve mused, “but when he transforms it makes me feel -”

“Young,” Rewind said. “It makes me feel young.”

“Hey Rodimus,” Lug called from by the viewport, redirecting their attention. “Check this out. I think _Mederi’s_ followed us through the rift.”

“The rift which _finally_ seems to be _re-sealing_ itself…”

“It makes you wonder whether the rift was really a rift… or just a way of bringing Mereri here.”

“Oh, _bravo!”_ Prowl spun around, his doorwings hitching up aggressively at the familiar voice. “Good guess!” Froid praised as he walked into the room, hands bound by stasis cuffs, accompanied by Sunder and guards that quickly closed the door behind them. _“Excellent_ guess!”

“Froid? Sunder?” Rodimus asked. “Why are you wearing _handcuffs?_ Unless… this _is_ a cell! Dammit!”

“You don’t seem that surprised to see us.”  
“You sided with the enemy and it didn’t work out. Tale as old as time.”

“It was all going _swimmingly_ \- until Scorponok persuaded Sunder to probe the Grand Architect…”

“You _got into his head?”_ Chromedome asked in shock.

“Briefly,” Sunder muttered. “I managed to get a quick scan of his _recent memories_ before he evicted me.”

“He _evicted_ you? Hows is that _possible?”_

“Not just that,” Froid said. “Ever since he was ‘evicted,’ Sunder’s not been able to… perform. Even the _simplest_ mnemosurgery is beyond him.”

“So who is this ‘Grand Architect’?” Krok asked, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation.

“We don’t know. It’s like he’s buried his identity.”

“Okay then, what _can_ you tell us?”

“That he’s spent most of his life preparing for a _fight_ \- a fight against an enemy that threatens all life in the universe. Someone so _terrifying_ that he’s chased the precise details from his mind.”

“And this is all his doing?”

“Yes, this is all him. He built a _hollow planet_ \- a giant mold which he used to make five Cybertrons. He brought them here using a subspace network he calls _The Warren.”_

“The Benzine Cluster is a lot _emptier_ than it used to be. It was a galactic trading center…”

“The Grand Architect cleansed the area,” Froid remark blankly. “He created these _biomechs_ \- soft on the outside, hard in the middle - and used them to take over the _Black Block Consortia_ by stealth. Clever, eh? Lie low while the Consortia sees off the Galactic Council, relieves the Benzene cluster of its population, blows up some planets, and generally _makes room.”_

“Makes room? Makes room for what?”

“For _the God Gun.”_

“Ha!” Rewind barked. “No. Ha! _Seriously?”_

“Rewind?” Rodimus prompted.

“The _Proto-Functionists_ believe that _Primus_ designed Cybertron so that it could be used as a _weapon_ against external threats - asteroids, mainly. They thought that if you tilted the planet at a precise angle and positioned it a certain distance from a star, you could turn it into a _cosmic pathblaster._ They never got to put their beliefs to the test because for the weapon to work, the planet needed to be _pristine._ The War did too much damage.” Rewind paused before turning to Froid in question. “Not sure why anyone would need _five_ pathblasters, though…”

“The Grand Architect thinks that five Cybertrons, if arranged in a particular formation, would make the laser exponentially more powerful,” Froid said.

“Um…” Rodimus began hesitantly from by the viewport, “... _How_ powerful exactly?”

“Powerful enough -”

Prowl’s spark _burned._

“- to _drill a hole in the universe.”_

“Something’s wrong,” Prowl gasped, stumbling back at the sudden agony in his spark, dropping to his knees as he pressed a hand against his chest plates. “Something’s _really_ wrong.”

“Scrap,” he faintly heard Nautcia mutter. “Medic! Lotty, Ratchet, First Aid, Spinister, Nickel, I don’t care, something’s happening.”

Time seemed to blur to Prowl, because it seemed as if it were only an instant later that five medics had dashed over, pushing him down to lay flat.

“Chest open, kid,” Ratchet ordered gruffly, and Prowl didn’t even bother to fight it, letting his chassis slide apart easily, but the burning only seemed to get worse.

“I feel like my spark’s being pulled out of my frame,” he said, ignoring the static lacing his vocalizer. Spinister was staring intensely at his bared spark, making unhappy noises.

“It’s way too early for the newspark to drop though, isn’t it?” Velocity asked as Ratchet jacked himself into Prowl’s medical ports.

“Doesn’t look like that’s what’s happening,” the old medic said. “Spark’s giving off way too much energy, but I can’t tell you _why.”_

“Coding misread?” Nickel offered.

“Something’s coming through the rift!” Spinister said, distracted staring out the window.

“Let Rodimus deal with it, focus on the patient,” First Aid said, not looking away.

The debate of the medics was quickly lost on Prowl as he felt something - _something_ \- touch his spark - not the bitlet, which he could distinctly feel panicking, but something _else._

Something _familiar._

Prowl was ready to sob when he felt the brush against his life force that he hadn’t realized he’d spent the past few months _yearning_ for.

_:: Prowl? ::_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SCREECHING NOISES* YES THAT'S EXACTLY WHO YOU THINK IT IS GET H Y P E D
> 
> it's only when you write something that you realize just how dense the final arc of Lost Light is like wow. exposition is the name of the game here folks, and I'm really relying on people having read the comics to understand what's going at this point because I've cut out a lot.
> 
> new chapter of courting gifts - it's Hook, with fanfic writer First Aid.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Constructicons are back and never had Prowl ever realized how much he missed their presence until quite then.

_:: Prowl? ::_ That was Bonecrusher, he knew it.

His vents stuttered, and he batted away the hands of probing medics, shutting his chest plates. “Stop it,” he muttered distractedly, even as his spark burned with the stretch of reaching for his gestalt. “I feel them. They’re here, _I feel them.”_

_:: Where are - I need - ::_ he stumbled over his words, even as he tried to pull himself up. Prowl braced himself on Spinister’s shoulder, ignoring Ratchet snapping at him to lie back down.

_:: You’re alive! ::_ Scavenger cheered - and Prowl had never been happier to hear his optimism.

_:: It’s been so long - ::_ Long Haul commented dazedly.

_:: Missed you so much - ::_ Mixmaster added.

_:: Where are you? ::_ Hook asked urgently.

_:: Green Worldsweeper. ::_ There was a brief pause after Prowl responded.

_:: Stay. We’re coming for you. ::_

“Consturcticons,” he whispered out loud. “They’re back.” This gave the medics pause.

“What do they have to do with anything?” Spinister asked confusedly.

“They’re his bonded,” Velocity told him quietly. “Got stuck in an alternate universe a few months ago.” The Decepticon made an understanding noise, before promptly scooping up Prowl and hauling him towards the crowded window as if he weighed nothing, ignoring Prowl’s yelp of surprise and protests of the other medics.

“Then that’s probably them now,” Spinister stated confidently, nodding his head towards the window - and once Prowl looked, it was hard _not_ to see what was going on.

_:: Please don’t tell me you’re on that giant planet’s alt. ::_

There was a brief, worrying silence. _:: Oh! Yeah, that’s Cybertron. No, we’re not on it. ::_

_:: What Long Haul_ means _is that the Functionist Council decided to reformat Cybertron to have an alt mode so that they could spread Functionism and wipe out organics effectively without letting them escape. ::_

_:: Then_ where _are you? ::_ he asked urgently, his spark burning even as he could feel them approaching.

_:: You see the ship that looks like the_ Lost Light? _::_ Prowl could. _:: That’s us. ::_

_:: Any particular reason why you’re hovering so close to this ship? ::_

_:: Oh, well - ::_

“Brace yourselves, people - we’re leaving!” Rodimus cried as four missiles were launched at them by the _Lost Light_ look-alike. _“Very dramatically!”_ he continued as the impact caused webs of cracks over the glass, the barrier bending in as the crowd scattered.

“What is this?” a voice sounded from behind them. “What’s going on?”  
“We’re _bailing,_ you piece of -” Rodimus snapped, whirling around, “- wait, _what?”_

_“Pharma?!”_ First Aid asked disbelievingly, though Prowl found himself equally disturbed by the also-reportedly-dead Chief Justice Tyrest looming over the medic’s shoulder.

_“You?!”_ Ratchet cried as well, even as Pharma gestured to the soldiers on either side of him.

“Stop them.” And the soldiers fired on them. More specifically, they shot Drift. Through the chest.

**_“GAH!”_ **

**_“DRIFT!”_ **

**_VOOOM_ **

And like so many other things that had been happening that day, it escalated even further as more missiles crashed into the window, shattering it and pulling them into the cold vacuum of space.

_:: … Fantastic rescue plan, ::_ he muttered dryly over the bond (and what an _experience_ it was to be able to do that again!). _:: Here I was, expecting to be swooped into your warm embrace, yet here I find myself, in the cold emptiness of space. ::_

_:: Nice to know you haven’t gone completely soft while we were gone, ::_ Bonecrusher responded, a fond note in his voice.

_:: I’ll show you soft if I’m left out here much longer, ::_ he grouched, squirming in Spinister’s grip - which had tightened quite a bit in surprise.

_:: Just a sec, ::_ Scavenger responded, a wave of mirth washing over the bond. _:: Megatron’s getting Decibel to start pulling you guys in as we speak. ::_

_:: Fragging_ Megatron’s _there? ::_

* * *

“My apologies everyone,” Megatron said, walking into the shuttle bay that they had all been pulled into. “That wasn’t the _gentlest_ of rescues.” He turned to the Second-In-Command of the _Lost Light._ “Ultra Magnus. Minimus,” he greeted, holding out his hand. “It’s been a while.” Ultra Magnus looked away. “I know,” Megatron said lightheartedly, regaining Magnus’ attention. “I know. I’d be the same. I’d be worse.” After a moment of silence, Megatron turned to look at the Scavengers - and Prowl, seeing as Spinister had yet to let go of him, despite any protest he made. “Well, I’ll be damned…” he muttered as he saw them. “Krok! Spinister! Fulcrum! Crankcase! Misfire!” he said jovially, clapping Spinister’s shoulder and shaking Krok’s hand.

“He knows our names…!” Fulcrum whispered in shock.

“He knows our _nicknames…!”_ Spinister amended.

“Prowl,” Megatron offered cordially, moving on before Prowl could even demand information on the Constructicons in response. “It’s been so long since I’ve met a _bona fide_ Decepticon.”

_:: Where are you? ::_

_:: Running as fast as we can! ::_ Long Haul chirped in response

“In the Functionist universe, the movement never -”

_:: Faster, ::_ he responded bluntly, an overwhelming, hopeful pulse at the thought of his _gestalt,_ his _bonded,_ of being _one_ making his head spin dizzyingly. _:: I need you_ now. _::_

“Megatron!”

_:: Anything for you. ::_

“Whatever, Cap, move outta the way!” Mixmaster responded flippantly, shoving the old warlord out of his and the other Constructicons’ path, and towards whatever emergency Velocity was waving him towards - he didn’t _care._ Prowl felt an uncontrollable smile spread over his face as he saw them - the _real_ them, not the fake ones produced by Mederi, he could _feel_ them.

It didn’t even register how ridiculous he must have looked, reaching for them desperately as they ran towards him, vocalizer clicking uselessly as he tried to say _anything._

“Prowl!” Mixmaster crooned, as they all reached to pull him from Spinister’s grasp - only to growl fiercely when the medic stepped back, pulling him out of reach. Prowl almost joined in.

“Easy,” the rotary mech said, oblivious to the hostile energy of both the Constructicons and Prowl. “Don’t hold him too tight, pressure on his gestation tank might damage the protoform.”

There was a heavy, _heavy_ pause, the atmosphere completely changing.

“Gestation tank?”

“Protoform?”

Prowl smiled sheepishly at the shocked and lost looks on the faces of his bonded.

“Um…” he started awkwardly. “Surprise?”

* * *

“So you’re really sparked?” Scavenger asked in awe once they had retreated to the Constructicons’ quarters aboard the _Last Light,_ easily waved off by Megatron with a simple warning to make it quick.

“I would hope so,” Prowl answered wryly, “else I’d be worried about what was orbiting my spark.” Their fields seemed to explode in joyousness as they stared at his chest, the only barrier between them and the sparkling they had sired.

“It hasn’t dropped yet?” Hook asked, dragging a servo along one of his transformation seams - which were in easy reach, with the compact circle they had huddled themselves into, the need for physical contact after so long was overwhelming. Prowl shook his head.

“Shouldn’t for another month or so, assuming no more complications.”

_“More?”_

Prowl shifted uncomfortably, hands drifting up to tap nervously against his chest plates. He loathed admitting to himself that he was squirming under the concerned gaze of his gestalt.

“When the bond broke,” he started stiltedly after a moment, “I, uh, my spark almost guttered itself trying to follow you. The new spark almost absorbed _me._ Nautica volunteered to donate spark energy so Velocity could jump-start my spark back into working again.”

There was a tense, heavy silence following his words. He shifted, fingers drifting away from where they hovered near his spark to fiddle with Long Haul’s fingers when they ventured close.

“I wouldn’t have called it a good experience. Zero out of ten, would not try again.”

_:: Don’t leave me like that again. ::_

Reassuring hands pressed against his plating, and Prowl didn’t think he had ever quite appreciated the simultaneous, continuous rumble of five other idling engines quite as much as he did right then. The sound was… reassuring, in its own way that he couldn’t quite explain.

“Give it a bad review online. Should shut it down real quick.”

_:: Never. ::_

Prowl laughed despite himself.

“So…” Bonecrusher began slowly after a moment. “Bitlet’s still circling your spark?”

“Mmhm.”

“Could we… see it?” Mixmaster asked hesitantly.

Without a word of reassurance, of wondering how he could possibly deny them, he simply slid his chest plates apart, smiling slightly at the awed looks on their faces and the burst of _pride_ burning through their EM fields.

“We made that? We made that bit?”

“Wouldn’t share my spark with anyone else,” Prowl responded softly. In the pulsing glow of his own spark, the Constructicons began to unlock their own chest plates, kibble and plating sliding aside easily to reveal their own life force. Prowl didn’t even pause to ask why, or think about it - he simply leaned forward and let his spark entwine with his gestalt, his bonded, becoming six-as-one. It felt _right._

He could feel the ball of energy that was their bitlet panic at the sudden, thus-far to it unknown feeling of the Constructicons, but a few warm, reassuring pulse from Prowl’s spark allowed it to easily reach out and twirl happily between his spark and those of his bonded.

It wasn’t like when they interfaced, seeking the ultimate closeness as they chased their overloads, right then they simply needed to be _one,_ and Prowl saw _everything._ It was incredible what one could see in a spark merge when not distracted by processor-addling pleasure.

He saw the trip to Cybertron, the realization of being in an alternate universe, the painfully familiar sensation of a piece of his spark being ripped so forcefully from him - the rebellion under Megatron, the spy that keyed them into the Council’s plans, the plan to use the portal in the sky to _come back -_

Prowl trembled as they separated, shaking his head slightly in a vain attempt to reorientate his processor after the dump of over eight hundred years of memories, multiplied across his five bonded.

“Eight centuries,” he whispered. “You were stuck there for _eight centuries.”_

“Hurt, having that end of the bond empty for so long,” Hook added sullenly. “Kept reaching for you.”

“Having you back here is enough - now and forever.”

Prowl paused, feeling his spark spin warmly at the idea of _forever,_ but caught by something he had noticed within the memories.

“How much longer is forever with that giant Cybertron raging outside?”

The ship shook - violently.

“Forever,” Mixmaster declared stubbornly, as they shakily clambered to their feet amongst the tremors. “That’s our cue to get back to the deck. Once this is over, I swear to Prim -” he cut himself off with a grimace. “To _something_ that we’re locking ourselves up and cuddling for at least a week. Maybe two.”

“And you think we defeat a planet,” Prowl stated skeptically.

“Oh, ever the pessimist,” Bonecrusher drawled. “Nah, we got a good reason to not lose this fight.”

“Out bit deserves a future,” Scavenger added quietly. “We’ve got a reason to make sure the Functionists don’t succeed, now.”

“The best reason, I would argue,” Long Haul chirped.

Prowl smiled.

“Then what’s the game plan to secure our bit’s future then, hot shots?”

“We gotta get out there and save the universe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a while because this was a big reunion? that I'd been building to for a while? so I felt like it should be a nice long reunion, but that was a genuine struggle to write so thank you for reading my short and sweet one that I hope delivers on some of the hype.
> 
> but there are only two chapters of this story left and after spending so much time on it that's sort of weird to think about and I'm kinda sad it's ending so soon :(
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It comes to the final battle, then the end of an adventure. But, perhaps not quite yet...

“Prowl!” Nautica cheered when he and the Constructicons entered the deck. “You’re alright!” she sang, throwing her arms around him briefly before turning her attention to the Constructicons. “Hook! Bonecrusher! Mixmaster! Scavenger! Long Haul!” she greeted, tightly hugging each of them in turn.

“What’d we miss? And how’d you get here?” Prowl asked, causing Nautica to sober quickly.

“Right, reunion can wait,” she said. “Basically, Pharma, Tyrest, the Necrobot, the Magnificence, and Rung are slash were the guiding hand, we broke out, planet chasing us, Luna One comes outta nowhere and hits the planet's neck to make it transform, and it turns out Rung can make Matrixes so he’s off doing the now so that we can defeat Cybertron.”

Prowl stared at her for a long, long moment processing the information dump he was just given.

_“What?”_

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she agreed tiredly, shoulders sagging a bit. “Trust me, that’s the abridged version. Turns out Rung was Primus the whole time, he just forgot.”

“How do you _forget_ something like that?” Hook asked incredulously.

“Long story. Long, long story.”

“Rung makes Matrixes?” Long Haul added a moment later.

“Look, I barely understand what’s going on, we can all figure this out later,” she said, cutting them off. “Question for another time. Now, you,” Nautica continued, pointing at Prowl.

“Me.”

“Yeah, Megatron and Ultra Magnus want to talk to you - strategizing on how to get the Matrixes down so we can lock the planet.”

“Hmm,” Prowl agreed vaguely. “Yeah, I’ll go over now. Command deck, right?”

“Yup.”

Scavenger leaned over his shoulder, bumping his face mask against Prowl’s chin. “We’ll go down and help prep the air force. See you in a bit?”

Prowl turned his head, quickly pressing his lips against the mask and pulling back with a slight smile on his face. “You better.”

As they parted ways, Nautica and Prowl going one direction, while the Constructicons headed for the shuttle bay, Nautica turned to face Prowl.

“You six are sickeningly sweet.”

“Was this not your end goal?”

“Yes, but I didn’t realize you were gonna be like _that.”_

“Suck it up, buttercup.”

“What?”

“Earth saying.”

“Ah.”

* * *

“Flame had briefed the rest of the _Grand Architect’s_ troops. As soon as we have the Matrixes, _the Infinites_ will transport us to the twelve _hot spots_ -” Megatron gestured to spots marked on the map of Cybertron, “- and _protect us_ from the Functionists until we’re ready to launch a _synchronized assault_ on Vector Sigma. Unless we activate each Matrix _simultaneously,_ the Council will realize the nature of our attack and start severing links to the hot spots. Each connection is _vital_ if we’re going to overload Vector Sigma.”

“It’s a _red-hot plan_ -” Rodimus said, walking onto the command deck with Chromedome and Rewind in tow, causing the group gathered around the map to turn and look at him, “- with an _unexpected flaw.”_ He held out one of the Matrixes, and Velocity, standing closest, realized the problem quickly.

“They’re _sealed?!”_

“It’s known as the _Morality Lock.”_

“Why lock the Matrix?” she asked confusedly. “Why do that?”

“To guard against misuse,” Drift said. _“‘Only the_ pure of spirit _can unleash the power of the Matrix.”_

“Meaning?” Ratchet asked impatiently.

“You have to be a _good person.”_

_“Meaning?”_

“Meaning…” Drift frowned at the interrogation. “Meaning you have to have, I don’t know, done _good things…”_

“I’ve done good things,” Misfire commented.

“You’ve done bad things, too,” Krok rebutted.

“Oh, God, loads.”

“What if you do good things for selfish reasons?” Brainstorm piped up inquisitively. “Or _bad things_ that lead to _good outcomes?”_

“Surely ‘goodness is about being kind, acting selflessly, showing compassion for all living things, and -”

“- dying of _boredom,”_ Whirl lamented, cutting off Lug.

_“Enough_ **_talking!”_ ** Grimlock snapped. “Not everything has to be a _conversation!_ We just need to pick the _best of us.”_

“Grimlock’s right,” Thunderclash agreed. “We’re _Autobots -_ beings good’s _what we do._ It’s what _sets us apart.”_

“I don’t know if it’s as simple as that anymore -” Rodimus started, “- I don’t know if it ever _was -_ but there’s no time for a _debate._ When I call out your name… come and collect your Matrix.”

* * *

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with?” Prowl asked worriedly as the Constructicons double-checked their weaponry. “Combining would be much more effective.”

“Haha, no,” Velocity cut in - Bonecrusher and Mixmaster, along with Krok (though the Decepticon had wandered off briefly to check in with his own subordinates (he harbored an odd level of protectiveness towards them)), had been assigned to her protection detail. “I say no, Constructicons say no, Captain says no,” she fiddled with the handle of her Matrix as she talked. “Carrying is a big enough risk factor just existing, and that’s without a battle going on.”

“You’ve made it this far,” Nautica chirped, having been grouped with Brainstorm, Hook, Scavenger, and Long Haul. “C’mon, I’ll make sure they’re back alive. Gotta lot to look forward to, don’t they?” Prowl smiled indulgently at her comment.

“I suppose they do.”

“Which is why you’re not coming~” Velocity sang in addition.

“I get the point, Velocity. You win,” Prowl conceded tiredly.

“They’ll be fine, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Yes, feeling the love and well wishes being sent my way right now,” Brainstorm drawled sarcastically, adjusting the scope of the massive blaster he had dug out of his old lab.

“Don’t die, I’ve already promised that my bloodthirst will lead me to murder everyone, beginning with you, and I don’t intend to renege on that now.”

“See, now that’s a challenge of survival I can work with!” the scientist cheered. “And don’t worry about your boyfriends, these weapons might not be my newest, but they still definitely pack a punch.”

“Yeah, hi, still in the room,” Bonecrusher interrupted.

“So you understand that I expect you back alive and well, then?” Prowl asked pointedly, shifting conversations easily.

“We’ll try our hardest.”

Prowl narrowed his optics.

“Promise.”

Prowl kissed each of them as if his spark depended on it - which, on a level he’d never really considered before, he supposed it did.

“I love you,” he told them softly. “Now get out there, kick some aft, and get home alive.”

The Constructicons smiled crookedly at him.

“You got it.”

* * *

“Clicker? Prowl? This is _Tailgate_ aboard _Infinite 6690,_ approaching _Rivets Field…”_ his voice tapered slightly over the line. “In fact, scratch that - we’re already here.”

“Roger that, Tailgate,” Clicker responded. “You’ve got _incoming,_ get ready to engage.” Clicker entered a few commands into the console before speaking again. Prowl simply tapped his fingers nervously against the edge of the computer, staring out the window at the familiar-looking yet foreign Cybertron. “Okay, I’m patching all of you through to a _shared channel._ You’ve got about _nine minutes_ before Cybertron starts to _change back._ When you’re all in position, Rodimus will give the signal to open your Matrix. Good luck everyone.” Clicker muted their end of the comm and slouched back into his chair with a heavy sigh. “And that’s about all we can do from here, I suppose.”

Prowl tapped his fingers faster.

“So you’re the fabled Prowl that the Constructicons are always talking about, right?”

“Hm?” Prowl looked away from the window to thing mech sitting next to him.

“They always talk about you,” he said bemusedly. “Megatron mostly remembered you by battles you had commanded against him, but the Constructicons talked of much more fondly. Anytime someone asked them for courting advice, it was always followed by some bizarre anecdote warning of what to do and not to do.”

“I guess they would have plenty of those, wouldn’t they,” Prowl mused, a slight smile on his face.

“I find it hard to believe you were at war for four million years, with the way they talk about you.”

Prowl looked back out the window.

“I suppose so.”

**_“AAAAGH!”_ ** the comm recaught their attention with a vengeance as the scream came through.

**_“SWERVE!_ ** Have you done it yet?”

**_“HRRG!_ ** It won’t - **_HRRG!_ ** It won’t budge!”

“Roller?”

“Nearly! Nearly had it!”

“It doesn’t _want_ to open!”

“... cheap, knock-off merchandise…”

“Whenever you’re ready, Chunky. Whenever you’re ready…”

“I’m sorry, Rodimus… Megatron…” Ultra Magnus said. “... it won’t respond.”

“Nonsense,” Megatron assured. “You can do this.”

“I don’t think I can!”

“You’re one of the most decent people I’ve ever met. _You can do this.”_

“How’s everyone else doing?” Rodimus’ voice filtered in.

“Not good…”

“Really thought I had it, but -”

“Are they even _meant_ to open?”

“- Maybe there’s a _knack_ to it, because -”

“- Nothing!”

A worrying silence from Rodimus and Megatron passed as they muted their comms.

“Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to help?” Prowl asked worriedly.

“All we can do is hope for the best,” Clicker responded, the mood somber.

_:: Don’t die on me. ::_

_:: ‘Course we won’t. ::_

_:: Made a promise, didn’t we? ::_

Prowl smiled. _:: That you did. And I intend to hold you to it. ::_

A moment later, Rodimus’ comm crackled to life as he began speaking.

“This is your co-captain speaking - and I’ve got a _question._ Have you ever wondered how we made it this far?”

“Magnus! _Behind you!”_

“I mean - we’re not the _smartest_ or the _strongest_ or the _bravest_ or the _best._ We don’t have the _most firepower_ or the _largest army_ or the _fastest ships._ And God knows we’re not _natural bedfellows._ I mean _think about it_ \- an archivist, a retired mnemosurgeon, a gunsmith, an archaeologist, a waste disposal expert, a quantum mechanic, a poet, a watchmaker, a barkeep… It shouldn’t work -”

**_“AAAARCH!”_ **

“- but it does.”

**_“GAHH!”_ **

“And it works because we’ve got _one thing_ in common. _Each other.”_

Prowl felt the small spark of hope he had left flare back to life as he saw a pinprick of light fire at one of the hot spots.

“Drift! Look! I’m doing it! _HA HA!_ I’m doing it!”

“Think of who’s listening to this message and I bet you’ll think of someone you _respect.”_

_Hook giving damage reports to Ultra Magnus after another distress call response._

“Someone whose judgment you _trust.”_

_Long Haul enthusiastically talking to Rung outside his office._

“Here - let me help.”

“Someone who makes you _laugh.”_

_Mixmaster keeping score of a drinking contest between Scavenger and Nautica with a barely restrained smile._

“Someone who makes you _happy.”_

_Bonecrusher dramatically picking him up from an appointment with an amused Velocity._

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!! It’s _opening!”_

“Someone who makes you feel it’s okay to be exactly who you are.”

_Hook’s off-handed remarks - Bonecrusher’s dramatic displays - Mixmaster’s challenges - Long Haul’s resourceful craftiness - Scavenger’s love of searching through junkyards -_

_Ultra Magnus’ leniency to spend time with his gestalt -_

_Rung’s open door and ready advice -_

_Velocity’s discretion and patience -_

_Nautica’s teasing smirk and enabling words -_

“And I _promise_ \- in fact, I _guarantee_ -”

“Please please please please please -”

“- that someone listening to this is thinking about _you_ in exactly the same way. Okay, so you’ve made some _bad decisions._ You’ve _hurt_ people. You’ve hurt _yourself._ You’ve stumbled through life from one _self-inflicted disaster_ to the next without anything even _approaching_ a plan. To which I say - _welcome aboard.”_

Prowl’s vents caught as light after light sparked upon each of the hot spots on Cybertron.

“Maybe you’re not good… but you’re sure as hell _good enough.”_

“Oh my God, they’re doing it,” Clicker whispered in awe next to him. Prowl could only numbly nod his head.

“There’s only eleven - the twelfth isn’t going, it’s not working!” Prowl suddenly realized in a panic.

Before he could even turn to Clicker and tell him to unmute their side of the comm, a twinkling, twelfth light suddenly lit up - and Cybertron was encased in a crackling, electric blue light.

**_VOOOOOSH_ **

A powerful bolt snapped out to encase Luna One, the field suddenly lighting up.

“Are you seeing this, Rodimus?” Fortress Maximus’ voice trickled in over the comm as Prowl and Clicker gaped as the view of Luna One just outside the window.

“The _birthing field’s_ just been hit by a _pulsewave!”_ Red Alert exclaimed.

“Rodimus? Can you read me?”

“Yeah…” the firey mech responded, almost frighteningly calm. “... We read you.”

**_DON’T FORGET ME_ **

* * *

“Yeah, no, still don’t get it,” Rodimus said tiredly.

“Don’t worry -” Fortress Maximus reassured, “- you said I’d have to explain it twice.”

“Tell me again.”

“After this conversation, you _contact us_ on Luna One and tell us to travel here via _the Warren,_ using the Necrobot’s cloak as a map. You say that the Warren will send us back in time to _now,_ and that as soon as we arrive here, we have to crash Luna One into Primus’s neck.”

“And you do! You did! You will!”

“Rodimus?” Tailgate interrupted hesitantly. “I have _another_ question… does this mean we’re _done?_ I mean, the quest’s over, we’ve got the _Lost Light_ back, we’ve seen off the _big bad,_ and - unless I’ve missed something - we’ve basically _saved the universe,_ so… it this it? Is this _the end?”_

“Nah,” Swerve answered easily. “Not _quite.”_

And as familiar arms encircled Prowl’s swollen waist, fields washing against his own, ends of the bond brushing his spark and the bit affectionately, he found that he had to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhnnnnnnnnnnn
> 
> yes, this chapter was short, but honestly [insert five-page long justification for why] so yeah.
> 
> Anyway, the next chapter is the epilogue/Lost Light 25! And just like LL25, there will be two endings - I'm not going to say much about them, but yeah it'll be like that.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You flare,_   
>  _you flicker,_   
>  _you fade,_   
>  _and in the end_   
>  _all your tomorrows_   
>  _become yesterdays._
> 
> 'Afterlight'

“And like all endings, it came too soon. That’s not to say it was _unexpected_ \- far from it. Those who _worked_ with the deceased - who _traveled_ with him - who knew him at his _phlegmatic best_ \- will be unsurprised to hear that he reacted to news of his terminal illness - to news that he would soon succumb to _age-related burnout_ \- with a sigh, a shrug, and a single word. ‘Bugger.’

“In accordance with his _final wishes,_ his _component parts_ have been sent to medical centers across _New Cybertron._ Similarly, every gift of innermost energon - and I understand there have been nearly five thousand - will be donated to the _Luna One Resettlement Fund._

“‘Even in _death,_ he chose _life.’_ Not my words… but the words of his long-time conjunx endura. So please, let us join Drift in paying our final respects to _Ratchet_ of _Vaporex.”_

* * *

“How many?” Rodimus asked suddenly. Prowl looked at him sharply.

“How many what? How many _sparks?”_

“On _Luna One,_ yeah. Ballpark.”

“A little under a _billion_ \- including an abnormally high proportion of _‘super-sparks.’”_

“Huh. Guess that means we can’t call them _point one percenters_ anymore.”

“That would be a bit redundant, I suppose.”

“Anode’s offered her services as a blacksmith on the project if Windblade needs any help.”

“I’m sure Eightbit will appreciate it. The higher-ups have yet to decide how many sparks they’re bringing to term.”

“Say again?”

“That whole stunt the Functionists pulled - turning Cybertron into a _giant robot_ \- they didn’t pull that off without burning up _a lot_ of energon. Eightbit wants to make sure that there are enough resources to support the _existing_ population before deciding whether to _increase_ it.”

“What’s the alternative, we let the sparks _go out?_ Because -”

“Rodimus, I don’t like it any more than you do,” Prowl interrupted tiredly. “Eightbit’s here for _one week_ before he goes back to _Earth_ to reassure Windblade that ‘Functionist Cybertron’ can be trusted to look after itself. I’m just telling you what Eightbit told me - don’t shoot the messenger.”

“What, and Eightbit doesn’t have the bearings to talk to me himself?”

“The mech’s a walking stick, I’m pretty sure he just preferred that I got punched instead of him if you got angry.”

“I’m not gonna punch a carrier!” Rodimus cried indignantly. Prowl smirked.

“Better not. Don’t doubt that the Constructicons are ready to tear you limb from limb if so much as scratch my paint.”

“Yeah, I know. Got the same warning talk like the rest of the crew, I get the point.”

“Good.”

“Anyway, so if you’re not gonna talk to me about Luna One…”

“Eightbit’s here because Megatron - _you,”_ he gestured to the ‘bot who had been mostly quiet through the conversation thus far, “have to stand trial. Again.”

“But -”

“The _first_ trial was abandoned because of the loophole he used to be judged by the _Knights of Cybertron._ We now know that they were euthanized on Mederi, so they can’t judge him - thus the call for a second trial.” Prowl sighed. “The High Council has asked the _Galactic Council_ to preside in lieu - not least because it increases their chances of being allowed to join.”

“No.”

“The trial or the Council? Rodimus -”

“No to everything you’ve said _and_ everything you’re going to say next.”

“Rodimus,” Prowl continued tiredly. “If you can give me a viable, lawful reason to refute Eightbit and the Council, then I can’t do anything. I tried, I asked Ultra Magnus for his opinion, but they’re not going to budge about this.”

“Oh, they want _reasons?”_

“Rodimus,” Megatron interrupted softly. “Please. They’re right.”

“They are?”

“I will, of course, comply,” Megatron told Prowl.

“Eightbit will be happy about that,” he agreed. “There’s one other thing he wanted me to bring up, though - the _Lost Light’s_ quantum engines are uniquely powerful, and if they were to be _removed -”_

“Not gonna happen.”

“- and are hooked up to an _energon refinery,_ they could _double_ the reserves.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Rodimus, listen,” Prowl tried. “I know that most of what Eightbit wants is stupid, but if the reserves doubled, it’s possible that _all_ of the sparks from Luna One - a _billion_ spar -”

“Fine!” Rodimus snapped. _“Fine._ They can take the engines.”

“The ship will remain intact,” Prowl offered weakly. “They’ve offered to put it on display - a monument on the _Mitteous Plateau._ A tribute to the crew.”

“The _Crusadercons.”_

“I still think that name is ridiculous.”

“Which is why you’re not in charge. Live a little, won’t you?”

Prowl gave Rodimus a long, unimpressed look. “I think I’ve lived far more this last week that I ever needed to.”

“Okay, you can be boring, but I’ve got an idea -”

“Oh no.”

“- and hear me out: y’think you can convince the Council to let us off on one last jaunt?”

Prowl tilted his head consideringly. “And what am I to tell the Council we’re doing?”

“Lap. Of. Honor.”

* * *

Somehow, the crowd of somber mecha had shifted so that Prowl and Chromedome - and by extension, Rewind - stood next to each other uncomfortably.

“I heard about what happened,” Chromedome started suddenly, causing Prowl to look at him in surprise. “I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

After a moment of processing the other ‘bots words, Prowl smiled softly. “Thank you. It was… hard, at first. We’re trying again, though.” Chromedome nodded politely.

“That’s good. Moving on, that is. A good sign.”

“I’d heard you retired as a grief counselor, though?”

“Fair point,” the former mnemosurgeon agreed amicably. “Fair point.”

* * *

“Alright, people,” Ultra Magnus called out over the deck. “Home time.”

“Ultra Magnus, you are _such_ a clock-watcher,” Rodimus sighed.

“Punctuality is the greatest of all virtues - and Eightbit gave us _one day…”_

“Yes, and I’ve been _true to my word:_ a few _quantum jumps_ to the neighboring system and back - with no detours, no mishaps, and no mutines. One last jaunt.”

 **_“BOOOO!”_ ** Swerve jeered from off to the side. “One _day._ You should’ve asked for a _week!”_

“A week, a month, a year…” Ratchet said consideringly. “What’s the difference? There’ll always be _an ending_ \- and if you’re lucky, you get to see it coming.”

“The trick is recognizing what you have before it’s gone,” Tailgate chipped in from where he was cuddled in Cyclonus’ lap.

“Any tips on how to do that?” Crankcase called.

“You can start by telling those you love that you love them.”

“Hmm,” Mixmaster rumbled right next to Prowl’s audial. “That’s a concept I can get behind.” His engine purred as he wrapped his arms around Prowl’s waist, pulling him closer to his body.

“You can keep it behind your panel for a while,” Prowl responded blandly. “I don’t happen to be an exhibitionist.”

“Yeah, but we have _quarters_ for a reason, y’know,” Bonecrusher tried, tracing his fingers in what was probably supposed to be a seductive gesture along his doorwings.

“We’re back on Cybertron in a few hours - last trip. We can have that week of uninterrupted cuddling you wanted when we get back.”

“Okay, but will that include -”

“Don’t be too excited,” Hook offered grumpily. “If you frag something up and the spark drop goes wrong, you’re paying the hospital bills.”

“He certainly fragged up something already, though, that’s for sure,” Long Haul muttered. Scavenger snorted even as Prowl gave them an unamused glare.

* * *

 **“SURPRISE!”** Thunderclash called as he sauntered into Swerve’s, a large, familiar board hoisted upon his shoulder.

“My _desk!_ My _map!”_ Rodimus cheered.

“Call it what it is - a _family album,”_ Swerve interrupted.

“Hedonia,” Swerve pointed at the map as it was set down on the counter. “The _bar,_ remember?”

“And there - next to _Temptoria_ \- wasn’t that where we met the _sentient rust?”_ Chromedome asked.

 _“Beryl!”_ Tailgate chirped. _“Love_ her! We’re still in touch!”

“Towcanta IV - isn’t that where you five got mistaken for deities because you knew how construction worked?” Prowl asked pointedly.

“It’s not our fault they didn’t understand how load-bearing walls should be built!” Scavenger whined.

“‘S a good life though, wasn’t it?” Long Haul asked wistfully.

“That _orbital hub_ near Scarvix - that overpriced _anti-gravity bistro,”_ Rewind chipped in. “We tried to _do a runner_ and got stuck on the _ceiling…”_

“That was the week the _Lost Light_ was _impounded,”_ Cyclonus said.

“By the _improbability police,_ yeah,” Chromedome recalled. “Pfft! What were we accused of?”

 _“Unlikely crimes and misdemeanors,”_ Nautica replied with a smirk. “And Ultra Magnus and Prowl got us off by arguing -”

“- that the charges _themselves_ were _too far-fetched,”_ Riptide laughed.

“‘Your honor,’” Rodimus rumbled dramatically in a poor but laughable imitation of Ultra Magnus, “‘if I may resort to idiom, I would humbly submit that the prosecution has been _hoist by its own petard.’”_

They all laughed in someway at that before they were interrupted by a _‘clink clink’_ that silenced the bar.

“I’d like to say a few words,” Ultra Magnus announced. He paused, gathering his words before he continued. “I never thought I’d say this, but… it’s been _fun._ When I signed up to this quest it was in the belief - and I realize this sounds _hopelessly romantic_ \- that by joining others in pursuit of a clearly defined _long-term objective_ I would forge a range of mutually beneficial _professional relationships_ that would help me extend my own skill set. By that measure, the last few years have been a _spectacular_ failure.” Ultra Magnus took a long drink of his engex.

 _“Good._ I thought I wanted colleagues… but what I actually _needed_ was _companions._ I stand before you today and I am honored and - and - and _humbled_ to count you as my _friends. All of you.”_ He shared a significant glance with Megatron. “A _toast,”_ he called, raising his glass. “To all of you. To all of us. To the _Lost Light._ To what we had - and to what comes next.”

“Right!” Swerve shouted suddenly, quickly shutting the entrance to the bar. “That does it! That flippin’ does it! **_LOCK IN!”_ **

Velocity laughed at his antics.

“I’m _serious!”_ the bartender cried. “We’ve got enough engex for _at least_ six months! This can’t be it, Lotty!”

“Why not?”

“Because _we’re not done!”_

“I know, but… there’ll be other quests…”

_“Not like this one!”_

**_RRRIIIIP_ **

Any Thought of locking themselves in the _Lost Light_ was quickly forgotten as the roof of the bar was torn off by the towering arms at the recycling factory. They all stared in stunned silence.

“Drink up, everyone.” Rodimus’ quietly somber voice shot through everyone like a bullet in quiet. “We’re done.”

* * *

“Woo-hoooo!” Misfire whooped, waving at them as the Scavengers flew away in their dinky little hovi-cab. “Later, losers!”

“Misfire!” they heard Krok snap before they were out of hearing distance. “Sit _down!”_

“Dammit!” Swerve cursed after a few moments. “Anyone get Misfire’s number?”

 _“Platform eleven,_ anyone?” Rewind asked. “We’re off to Milnex - gonna visit the _census center._ Chromedome’s treat.”

“But then we _have_ to find somewhere to live,” Chromedome reminded.

“Hold up!” Nautica interrupted. “We’re meeting _Chromia_ on platform twelve - she’s taking us to visit Swearth! I mean Earth!”

“We’re down on platform eighteen,” Hook mentioned. “We’re taking some time off before we gotta settle down.”

“Hey,” Lug called. “Guys. Let’s all keep in touch.”

“Definitely,” First Aid responded.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And they headed their separate ways.

* * *

“Honestly, Nautica, I won’t have time to read it. Luna One is _all-consuming,”_ Minimus said as the Camien tried to hand him a datapad. “It’s been years since I even _looked_ at _Terms of Peace.”_

“Minimus. Please,” Nautica said. “It’s a gift.” She looked up. “Speaking of Luna One, how goes the _Bronze Harvest?”_

“We passed the halfway mark last month,” he said, finally tucking the book under his arm. “Five hundred million sparks brought to term. Five hundred million _Lunarians_ given somewhere to live and helped into jobs of their choosing.”

“I know people were worried about them _integrating,_ but -”

“No, no, it’s incredible how well they’ve _blended in._ If anything, I wish they’d make their presence felt a bit _more…”_

Prowl clicked his vocalizer awkwardly, causing both of them to turn and look at him. “Mind if I join in?” he asked awkwardly. Nautica beamed, stepping forward to hug him.

“Prowl,” she greeted happily. “It’s been… _Primus,_ we never talked after the _Lost Light,_ did we?”

“We never exchanged long-distance frequencies, and by the time I realized that I didn’t really know how to get a hold of you.”

Nautica frowned. “I guess I’m just surprised at how much time has passed since I’ve seen you.”

“It’s definitely been a while though.”

“So where’s the bit?” Nautica asked excitedly, swiveling topics easily. Prowl blinked in surprise. “Last time I saw you, you were huge!”

“I, uh,” he started awkwardly after a moment, fingers drifting over the flat expanse of his abdomen. “About that…”

“Did you leave him at a daycare center?” Minimus asked inquisitively. “I understand that you might not be completely comfortable bringing a youngling to a funeral.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Do the Constructicons have him? Where are they?” Nautica asked. Prowl twitched his wings as she spoke.

“Catching up with some of the others,” he answered, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “No, there was - um,” he reset his vocalizer before continuing under Nautica and Minimus’ gaze. “There was an accident,” he said at last. “A few weeks after we left the _Lost Light._ We lost the sparkling.” Prowl kept his optics firmly fixed on the ground. He jerked when arms wrapped around him comfortingly.

“You’re okay?” Nautica asked softly. After a moment, he nodded his head jerkily.

“We’re okay,” he said, pulling away gently. Minimus awkwardly put his hand on Prowl’s arm in an odd attempt at comfort - but he appreciated the effort, nonetheless. “We’re, uh,” he started, letting a slight smile cross his face, “we’re trying again, actually. Expecting emergence in a little under a year.” Nautica grinned.

“I’m giving you my long-range frequency - because I am fully expecting to be invited to the baby shower.”

“An awfully human concept, but you’d be first on my guest list,” Prowl responded. He looked at Minimus. “And second, of course.” The shorter mech chuckled.

“I’m sure there must be someone higher than me - we weren’t very close.”

“No,” Prowl agreed easily. “We weren’t. But you did a lot for me. You gave me a chance that I might not have gotten otherwise.” He shrugged. “Who knows what horrible decisions I might have made without someone like you breathing down my neck.”

“You probably would have gotten somebody to hate you enough to throw you out a window before long, I’m sure.”

“Nice to see you’ve gotten a sense of humor.”

“I try. My delivery has gotten better, apparently.”

“Well,” Nautica offered, “no longer sounds like you’re phoning in a bomb threat, that’s for sure.”

“It’s not like he could’ve gotten _worse._ The only way from there is up.”

“Fair point.”

“And discount yourself, either,” Prowl told her. “You did more than I think anyone else had ever done for me. I probably would’ve ended up ruining any chance I had with the Constructicons if you hadn’t spent your time shoving me towards them. So thank you for that. Thank you for _everything.”_

Nautica smiled. “You’re welcome,” she said, tapping a fan against his doorwing. After a moment, he tapped back. “I did tell you that you’d thank me eventually though, didn’t I?”

 _“Primus,_ you’ll never let me live down how wrong I was, will you?”

“Give me your frequency. I’m texting you each day with a reminder that I’m superior.”

“You two act like sparklings,” Minimus commented.

_“We do not!”_

* * *

Prowl lurched against the railing as the _Lost Light_ exited the quantum jump. There was a tense, heavy silence over the bridge.

“Did it work?” Rodimus asked after a moment.

“I don’t know,” Crankcase responded, “but the quantum engines very nearly _overloaded…”_

“We’ve jumped further than we’ve _ever_ jumped before,” Ultra Magnus mused,

“And the navicomp?” Rodimus asked Blaster, who had a ridiculously wide smile on his face.

 _“Blank,”_ he grinned. “It’s got _no idea_ where we are.”

A long pause.

“Bloody hell,” Rodimus whispered, voice shooting through the bridge. “We did it. _WE DID IT!”_ he cried, jumping up excitedly.

“So, what do we think this new universe will be _like?”_ Misfire questioned.

“Too soon to say,” Drift said. “It could be virtually identical to ours, or it could be fantastically different.”

“Happy to settle for _fantastic,”_ Chromedome said.

“The fun is in finding out,” Rodimus chirped. “Crankcase? Set a course for _high jinks and mild peril!”_

“How long will it take us?” Ultra Magnus queried.

“What, to explore the _entire universe?”_

“I will accept an estimate,” he responded with a slight smile.

“Well, if I had to _guess…”_ Rodimus hummed. “... Taking account of all known variables and allowing for every possible outcome… If I had to guess, I’d say it’ll take us more or less… _forever.”_ After a moment, he turned to face Megatron in the chair next to him. “What do you think, co-captain?”

“What do I think?”

“Yeah.”

“I think forever sounds about right.”

_:: We promised you forever. ::_

_:: Just you, us, and the bit. ::_

_:: And everybody else, I guess. ::_

_:: This is a new, fresh start. ::_

_:: Forever. Just us. ::_

For the first time, Prowl found that he quite agreed with Megatron.

_:: I can live with forever. ::_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of Over to You.
> 
> Originally, there was going to be a sort of meta-ending, where Rodimus hands over command of the Lost Light to Prowl for a few days to explore a planet in this new universe, ending with the words 'Over to you.' (hi, would you like a side of cheese with this story?)  
> But in the end, as I was editing this, I felt that it was a bit off-putting and jarring, and I feel that what comes before that minus the 'over to you' addition was a much more effective ending. So it's cut.
> 
> I've written an epilogue for this, but it'll probably be the last story I write for this AU for a bit - don't get me wrong, I've absolutely adored working on it, but it's burned me out a bit. I have cut scenes and completely alternate ways for things to go that I want to write (originally, chapter nine was going to be a MASSIVE thing with Tarantulas, but *snip snip* got cut), as well as other additional stories. But I'll come back to this AU later - both to write a bit more, and edit this main story a bit more (looking back, I made some sketchy and objectively and subjectively bad decisions when I was writing this). But I'm taking a bit of a break from it to work on other things that got put waaaay on the backburner while I worked on this.
> 
> tl;dr: at some point in the (hopefully near) future I'll clean this story up a bit and write a bit more for it.
> 
> Anyway, the epilogue for this epilogue is up: 'Venture' is now part of the Over to You series!
> 
> I want to thank everyone for reading, kudosing, and commenting - it's meant a lot to me, and I can't believe this story is already over.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


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